


The Lion of Lucis

by kingsocean



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Backstory, Canon Compliant, Emotional Manipulation, Historical, Injury Recovery, M/M, Magic, Military, Minor Original Character(s), Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Underage, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-06-10 17:05:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsocean/pseuds/kingsocean
Summary: After running away from home, Cor Leonis becomes an underage soldier of Lucis, whose country is entering a war they cannot win. Despite everything, the boy survives. The King shows a bit of favor to the boy, and over time Cor continues to cultivate a relationship with the King of Lucis as the war grows outside and inside the nation.





	1. The Man in White

 

“We can’t discharge him, he’s a war hero!”

There is no clear reason why they’re defending him, he doesn’t know half the people speaking, and he sits outside while other Crownsguard soldiers around the office gawk at him or pretend to ignore him while their walking slows – just a bit – so they can catch a glimpse of him.

“He’s twelve years old! We can’t have a twelve year old in the military!”

This is his fault. He reminds himself over and over, this is all his fault, he knew the dentist could tell how old people were, although he didn’t know how, but they could look in your mouth and just tell, and he never should’ve trusted that doctor to keep quiet. He pushed his luck with the first dentist.

He grits his teeth, feeling the sharp prod of a wire in his mouth poke into his inner cheek. He would never have gone to the dentist if he didn’t have to.

“Today of all days to have something like this come up!” The sterner voice sounds like the Colonel. He’s heard it many times, but never this directly. “The King is going to be here today! To think he will catch wind of this problem!”

“It’s not a problem! I was there! With him! Kid or not, that boy did his job, and he’s a hero, he should get a medal like the rest of us.”

That was the Sergeant, or the Sergeant Major, he supposed. He had two of his fingers amputated off just recently, and he remembered being there to witness it.

“Where is the kid?” The Colonel asked, his voice sounded a bit more irritable, somehow.

The door swings open and the few eavesdropping office workers and soldiers scatter.

“Cor?”

Cor Leonis raised his bruised head, unclenching his jaw, and looked to his Sergeant. His three-fingered hand was holding the door. One thumb, a ring finger and a pinky finger.

“Yessir?”

“Come here.”

Cor took his hat off his head, his hair was just starting to grow back, his hair had been burnt black by something, so they shaved it off. He was just thankful it was growing back, some people had patches of skin burnt so bad hair could not grow, his was just a singe – and that awful smell.

He stepped into the air conditioned office of the Colonel, and bowed, and then saluted and he told him to be at ease, so Cor relaxed himself.

“Sit down.” The Colonel demanded, and Cor did.

The chair was warm, probably the one the Sergeant Major was in. The Colonel gets a good look at him. Cor hears the door shut, and glances - the Sergeant was gone.

There’s a bruise under Cor’s eye, it’s a deep purple fading into a brown-yellow. Cor’s jaw is swollen on one side, he’s got bandages on his hands, and one around his shoulder that they wrapped around his neck. The colonel eyes at the white bandage on his neck, and points it out.

“Whassat?” He huffed.

Cor raised his eyes and got a look at the Colonel. He had a thick mustache, short hair, probably dyed black because it was too dark to look natural, and his eyebrows were greyish, yet his chevron mustache was pitch black too. Cor looked to his fat finger, now pointing at Cor’s neck. Cor looked down.

“Whassat bandage for, son?” The Colonel clarified.

“Clavicle.”

“What about it?”

“Bruised it.”

“You know what a clavicle is, son?”

Cor shook his head ‘no’.

“Course not, you ever been to school, boy?”

Cor nodded his head, ‘yes’.

“What school?”

Cor did not say.

“What’s his records say, where’d he come from?” The Colonel turns to ask his secretary. 

“His physical was supposedly performed in Old Lestallum.”

Cor tightened his grip on his hat when the secretary spoke.

“Says he was in good health. Dentist said so too. Approved him for combat.”

“They was lying hicks…” The Colonel grumbled.

Cor squeezed his hat a bit tighter.

“Dentist said you’se about twelve… paper said you’re seventeen.”

“I am.”

“You’re what? Twelve? Or seventeen?”

Cor hesitates. “Seventeen.”

“Lying ain’t gonna get you far here, son. I trust _my_ dentist more than some boonies hick.” The secretary dropped the file in front of the Colonel, and scampered off, back to her desk. “Where’s your parents?”

Cor said nothing.

“He’s an orphan, sir.” The secretary piped up. “It’s on his file.”

“Yeah, well it also says he’s seventeen.” He grumbled. “Boy, who helped you get in?”

“Nobody.”

“Well I know you’re lying about your age. So I don’t know when you’re telling the truth.”

“I wasn’t first-!” Cor twitched a bit, and held his jaw, feeling that irritating wire poke into his cheek, and his jaw ached.

“Hell’s wrong with you?”

“M’jaw.” Cor hissed. “Doc.. wired it shut.” He was mumbling most of his words.

“Well then just take it slow.”

Cor sighed through his nose. “Doc… let some boys go. They wasn’t sixteen. So he checked my teeth, said I couldn’t go, I said he let my friends go… so he just wrote me off.”

“And who are these boys?” The Colonel said, alarmed that there was more.

“Duncan and Isaac, and a couple more…”

“And where are they now, boy?”

“They’re dead, sir.”

The Colonel paused at that. He sighed. “In Keycatrich?”

“Yessir.”

A deep sigh. “I see.”

Cor started hearing some noises outside, but the Colonel spoke and he stopped focusing on it.

“Sergeant said you was a… medic or something, in the trench.”

Cor nodded. “I tried, sir.”

“The Medic said they had a shortage of proper bandages, and you helped them by going around, pulling clothes off the dead and soaking them in alcohol, make bandages out of that. Used dead men’s belts as tourniquets and all.”

“They wasn’t using it.” Cor murmured.

“Look.” The Colonel shut the file before him. “You did good things, and you did it for Lucis, you protecting this country. You did us a service. So I’ll tell you what, I’ll cut you a big check, and you’ll be honorably discharged from the – _Your Majesty!_ ”

The words Cor was hearing gave him such a sinking feeling in his gut he did not hear the office door open. He watched the Colonel jump out of his chair, and then bow his head lower than Cor had ever seen him do so before. The secretary did the same, so Cor slowly stood up, clutching his hat, and turned around.

It was a man he’d never seen before.

The man was a bit taller than him, but not taller than the colonel. He was thin looking, and surrounded by two officers. Like the Crownsguard, and even Cor himself, they all wore black, but his officers had gold decorating their shoulders and along their buttons and down the hem of their clothing. The man he’d never seen before was different. He was wearing white.

His thin frame was clung tight by the belt around his waist, tied tight, his button up shirt had a few buttons undone at the top so that his chest hair was showing, but only a bit. His pants were white, his shoes were wand socks were white too, and around his shoulders was a long coat that wrapped around his arms and hung off him like a cape. Everything completely pristine, not a stain, or a drop of blood, and Cor felt dirty just for looking at it.

Cor finally looked at his face. He had a scar along his face, around his cheek and to his ear. It was very slight, not deep, but a light pink, a fractal tree, electricity scars – Cor had one too from a Magitek Trooper, but his was ugly and on his back, this one almost looked softer and beautiful instead of making the man's face ugly.

His hair is longer than most, past his ears, soft black, and wavy, just a bit, parted down the middle. He’s fanning himself with a paper that is a map of the base, Camp Formouth Crownsguard Facility. His hair pulls away from his face. He has greenish eyes, like green jade, it’s a mix of different shades.

Cor gets it in his mind that he ought to bow, so he does, and the man he never saw before smiles and turns and looks to the Colonel. “Enough.” His voice is not what Cor expected, or maybe exactly what he should’ve expected, it’s soft and light and almost enjoyable, he’s firm but gentle in one command.

The Colonel rises.

“Your Majesty – please, take a seat. Let me get you something –”

“I heard there was something you wanted to hide from me?” The man said, and then smiled. He had uncomfortably white and perfect teeth.

The Colonel is bright red and sweating with nervousness despite the air conditioning.

“Sir.” Cor said, and when he does he’s sure the Colonel is about to explode.

The man he’d never seen before doesn’t register for a second, but then turns to look at Cor. Cor feels something shoot up his spine.

“Yes?”

“Do you want to sit down?” Cor asked quietly because of his jaw still aching.

“No thank you.” The man said, and denied the chair Cor offered. “Are you Cor Leonis?”

Cor felt his stomach tighten. “Yessir.”

The man smiled. He extended his hand, and Cor realized he had white leather gloves on too.

“I’ve heard a bit about you.” The man said.

Cor didn’t go to shake his hand.

The man smiled with that same smile, all teeth visible. “Do you know how to shake hands?”

“Excuse me, sir.” Cor replied. “But I think… I might get your glove dirty… if I touch it.” He spoke slow and clearly so his jaw didn’t hurt too much.

The man laughed, and pulled his hand away. “How polite.” He turned to look at the Colonel. “Now. Back to us.” His voice turned ten degrees colder. “This boy, this is the one you tried to hide from me?”

“No, your Majesty, not at all!”

“Well that’s funny!” The man came forward, he pulled a white can, it had a silver handle, and walked forward – it seemed his right leg was stiff or limp. “Because I asked about coming around here, and I was told there was an issue, so I ask ‘oh, what kind of issue could their possibly be, considering I have just lost over 400 troops in two days – what more of an issue could I possibly have?’” As the man spoke, the Colonel seemed to be sinking back in his spot.

“Then they told me ‘well, your Majesty, there is a boy who was supposed to be decorated at the ceremony yesterday— a ceremony that I came all the way from Insomnia to attend, remember?— they tell me 'but he is twelve, and so we did not decorate him.’ And so I demanded to know where he was, and suddenly, I was met with resistance. My own army. Disobeying me. Surely, you can imagine, how alarming that was…”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“So why did you keep this a secret? I came to visit to rally my troops, to support them in their endeavors, to decorate them for their accomplishments, to listen to their troubles, to know how they feel, they have lost friends, they have lost lovers, they have lost family. Over 400 people died, if a 12 year old witnessed this, do you not think to honor them?”

“Your Majesty, we will be sure to honorably—”

“Discharge him?” The man spoke up. “How dare you.” The man in white turned to Cor, and looked at him up and down.

“Boy.” He snapped.

“Yessir.”

“Do you want to be discharged?”

“No sir.”

“Even if you were honored? Even if I let you shake my hand on stage and accept a medal in front of everyone? Even if we paid you a lot of money to be discharged?”

Cor hesitated, he felt like this was a test. “...No sir?”

“Why not?”

“Well… I….” Cor hesitated. “I joined cus… brothers and sister were going to fight… and coming back in coffins.” Cor murmured. “So… so me and my friends we wanted to fight. We don’t like this Aldercapt guy. He’s a lyin dirtbag.”

“Indeed he is.” The man agreed. “Well, where are your friends?”

Cor looked down. “They’re dead sir.” He repeated flatly.

“So why do you keep fighting?”

“Well… with all due respect sir… they killed my friends. I want them to pay for that.”

The man smiled. He reached his cane out, and put it on the Colonel’s shoulder.

“That is the voice of a soldier.” The man in white hissed. “A soldier who wants to fight. We have very few people, who have that devotion in them… so you better believe we will keep the ones who do.”

“Yes, yes of course your Majesty—”

“I will hear no talk of discharing this boy, not ever again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, your Majesty—”

“In a couple days, there will be an award given to this boy. How old is he on his paperwork?”

“Seventeen sir—”

“I will tell the world he is seventeen. I will tell the world what he has done. I will tell the world that we have survived Keycatrich. We have lost, yes, but we are not done. We will never be done here, not until we win. Keycatrich was a declaration of war in our territory of Lucis. From here on out, we’re fighting in our own country. Lucis is at war in its own borders. Do you understand the seriousness of this event?”

“Yes, your Majesty, I—”

“Good!” The man took his cane off the man’s shoulder.

“You. Come with me.” The man in white said.

“Sir?” Cor asked.

“Did you think I was asking the secretary?” the man retorted. “You. Cor Leonis.” The way he says his name gives Cor another chill up his spine.

“I would like to finish this business before I'm late for lunch.” He beckons Cor outside, and Cor follows, and steps outside the office, not even saluting the Colonel like he is supposed to.

“So would you prefer me to say you are seventeen?” The man speaks up.

“Sir, you can say what you want I suppose...”

The man laughed again. He pulled a white pouch from his breast pocket, and then pulled out a black cigarette, with a gold filter on it. He put the gold foil in his mouth, and then he put his hand on the edge of the cigarette. A fire leapt out, and licked against the tip of the cigarette until it caught fire as well, and then the man’s hand extinguished.

“Do you smoke?”

“Not really sir.”

“Here.” The man seemed to take that as a yes, so Cor had a cigarette in his hand. He liked the smell, but he still coughed when he tried to smoke, so he took a small breath. It felt smooth, and something like mint.

Cor smoked, and then the man started to walk, and his two attendants in black and gold followed him. The cigarettes matched their outfits better than the man in white. Cor followed along, on the side, holding the cigarette and hardly smoking.

“Sir? Are you the Marshal of the Crownsguard?” He recalled the Amicitia line was royal, always addressed nicely, he wondered if that was the case.

The man in white nearly dropped his cigarette, and stopped in his tracks. He looked down at Cor.

“Do you not know who I am?”

“No sir, I can’t say I do.”

The man laughed. “Oh… that’s adorable.” He chuckled. “No, I am not the Marshal, that is my Shield.”

It hits Cor, only at that line, who the man was.

“Oh.” He said. “You’re the King.”

The man laughed again. “What a way with words.” The King mused. “Yes, that is who I am.”

“King Mors.” Cor corrected himself. “King Mors Lucis Caelum.”

“The 112th.” Mors added. “But I don’t care much for titles.”

 

Cor was left with that to stew in, and he’s too nervous to pretend he knows how to smoke so he just holds the cigarette in his hand until it burns down towards his fingers and he flinches and draws back to the filter.

They take him out of the colonels office, and Cor starts to wonder with a great amount of fear, just how much trouble he was in. Mors’s words seemed to have melted out of his head. He wonders if he’s done something so bad that the King had to get involved.

Instead they walk across the dusty dry facility and every soldier stops and stares and some bow or salute and Mors simply greets that with an ‘oh dear’ and just keeps smoking. Cor dropped the cigarette on the sand and keeps walking. They walk to the Generals offices, even more air conditioning blasts them on the top of the head, and some powerful smell of lemon-scented cleaner is all on the fancy tile floors.

Again, Cor is sitting outside of an office, however this time it’s not yelling, so Cor can’t hear what they are saying. The King and the General are speaking, and the two bodyguards are in there, and Cor is just tasked with waiting, so he does.

His jaw really is starting to hurt the more he has to talk today, so he’s content to just sit there and be silent.

The King of Lucis exits he General’s office, and he tells Cor this.

“You will remain in the Crownsguard—”

Cor exhaled a huge sigh of relief. That was all he wanted to hear.

“—in the meantime, you’ll be pulled from the front lines.”

“What?” Cor asked.

“Until you are older.” Mors added. “Do not speak back to me. I am the King.”

Cor’s gut plummets inside himself. He doesn’t know how to feel. He wants to avenge, he wants to destroy, he wants to fight – not guard.

“You will be stationed inside Insomnia City. I have asked you be stationed under a royal guard. You will still maintain your rank, and your rise in rank. In a couple days I will raise you from Private to Corporal. You will serve as royal guard at the Citadel. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir.” Cor replied.

“When you are older, or when we feel you are ready, you will be given the ability to return to the front lines, or to stay where you are.” Mors continued on. “I am dispelling any order of your discharge. You will not be sent away.”

“Why?” Cor didn’t really think about asking.

“Why?” Mors retorted. “You should just be saying ‘thank you’ not, _why_.”

“Thank you, sir.” Cor replied. “… Thank you, your Majesty.”

Mors smirked a bit. “On the otherhand.” He said. “I only came over here because I was told the Colonel’s office was closed. I was surprised. Most soldiers never tell me a place is closed, they want to show off everything, and show how well their facility is running – they like to show off to me, of course. Being told not to go somewhere was unusual, so I wanted to investigate. If they had said nothing, I probably would not have come to see you.”

Cor blinked. So it was luck. Well, he supposed being alive was lucky too, so he was dependent on it for the time being. “…Well, thank you, your Majesty, sir.”

“Just Mors is fine.”

Cor didn’t believe that for a second, the military was too irritable and intense about ranks and names, so he didn’t take that to heart, but he said. “Okay.” Just in case.

“Well, I better get back to my ‘tour’ I’m going to be late at this rate.” He pulled his sleeve back and revealed a white and silver wristwatch. “Very well, I will return in a few days. Try not to die before then, Leonis, otherwise I went out of my way for nothing.”

“No promises, sir.”

A chuckle. King Mors Lucis Caelum walks out the door, and Cor followed. The King stepped out the door, and bid him a good bye, and entered a glittering black sedan. They went down a long dirt road, and Cor stood there and watched the car until it was out of his sight, and then he went off in a different direction.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like Cor, and writing him, and I was inspired by 0dinkyicarus's art and their drawings of Mors that I wanted to write something about Cor and Mors. If you enjoy, let me know, leave a comment and kudos.


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor arrives in Insomnia City

The days that pass are reserved for Cor to heal himself. He doesn’t even bother with coming to roll call in the morning, and they don’t task him with much other than guard duty around the base. The wire poking his cheek is checked by the same dentist that outed him to the Colonel. She looks somewhat unsure when she sees Cor, but doesn’t speak at all, just like last time. Cor can’t help feeling bitter, but he knew it was his fault. His jaw had been hurt badly, he needed to see a dentist weeks ago before he finally did it. Keycatrich felt like so long ago by now. Everyone just sort of accepted that it happened, that the town was gone, that most people survived, and that a lot of people had died. Over 400 soldiers. It doesn’t sound like anything. It doesn’t _feel_ like anything.

It’s not ‘a pile of bodies big enough to build a wall’ it’s not ‘the scent of decay clinging to clothing long after they’ve been washed’ it’s not ‘Duncan and Isaac and Sonia and Junior are all gone, and you will never see them again’. It’s just a number. Over 400 people. No big deal. Nobody else loses sleep.

 “Relax, kid.” The dentist tells him, and he doesn’t realize he’s clenching and shifting his jaw because he can’t stop thinking about Keycatrich.

He doesn’t tell her what she does is hurting, he just wants to be done with this dentist trip, and she’s just supposed to bend the wire back so it doesn’t hurt so much in his mouth. Whatever she does, it hurts a lot, but he just grunts and then she’s done. It seems she’s not willing to talk about how she ratted him out, but that’s fine, Cor isn’t interested in talking about it, and it’s not like her blabbing got either of them anywhere. In the end, nobody found out, it was kept a secret. Cor wondered if there was a gag order on them – he doubts it, but the King of Lucis seemed… persistent.

The dentist sets some instrument down on a metal table, and pulls her hand out of his mouth. He sits up, turning his head and feeling his aching jaw.

“Don’t eat hard food like garula steaks or anak or any tough meat, nothing really crunchy like chips or nuts or anything, don’t get it stuck in the wires, the last thing you need is rotting food causing an infection.” She pats him hard on the back, and he nods.

“Yes ma’am.” He grumbled.

That scratches off anything halfway decent to eat at the Base, so Cor sticks to soup, but that’s even if he feels like eating, and he doesn’t. He hardly does. He sleeps during the day and then he’s up at night, because nighttime is an awful time now, because he would talk quietly to Isaac about how he’s afraid and thinks maybe he’s too young, but now he has a different room and some soldiers who call him ‘small fry’ and he doesn’t want to speak to them, so he walks around outside, and watches the other drinking and going to the club on base, and he wonders about joining, but he still lied about being ‘seventeen’ and he’s still not allowed to drink, although he already tried. It burns and tastes like shit, but he felt better; he sleeps better. It seems like nobody cared when he was in the trench.

Then again, he stole that booze off a dead body, so there was more to judge than just drinking.

He rationalized with having to steal off their bodies – people needed the stuff they had. He needed things too. It was still just… sickening to do that. He spent so much time around the medic and yet he didn’t even thank him or do much more than try to get him things he needed. He wanted to fight, but after facing death, seeing the bodies, the violence, the bombs dropped, he realized he just wanted to live. It was weeks before they declared defeat and limped back to Formouth in pain and in shame. Keycatrich was an exploded husk of its old town. The bombs were a surprise.

Cor forced himself to sleep when he was told tomorrow would be the ceremony. It doesn’t work well and he’s tired and his stomach burns because he doesn’t ever eat anymore and even though he liked a nice garula steak, now the smell of cooking flesh is making him want to puke. Even the soup he likes tastes gross and slimy in his mouth.

True to his word, King Mors Lucis Caelum returns, and he is in black this time. It’s hard to recognize him, simply from the wardrobe change. Cor figured he wore it to the last ceremony, but he wasn’t around for it, he was busy coughing up blood in a dentist office and not being able to do much.

He’s dressed in pitch black, a black button up shirt with ruffles, long black slacks. a black belt with a gold buckle, and black pointed shoes with small black buckles on them too. He has the Lucian crown in his hair, a silver looking horn, and he has a long cape with a large collar around his neck, and a thick gold and black scarf.

It looks terribly hot to be wearing all that in the hot Leide sun, not to mention the stage has no roof. Yet the King doesn’t seem bothered, he doesn’t even seem to sweat, and he is there for a long time, while they name names, and half interested people look on.

Cor is awarded with some other soldiers who were too injured for the first event, he’s one of the few who isn’t going to be honorably discharged after the ceremony. One is in a wheelchair. Several have broken arms, or legs, and have crutches. Yet they beam when they are announced and get to shake the hand of the King of Lucis. One of the soldiers is blind, and his friend holds his arm and helps his friend come up to the stage.

Cor recalls them, he recalls watching him limp back to the medic shack, his eye hanging out of his head, resting on his cheek, the other half of his face in burned. They announce that he’ll be honorably discharged with a high rank. His eyes are gone, and there is still a bandage around half of his head, but he smiles wide enough for people to know.

Cor feels like his actions are nothing in comparison to everyone else. He still hasn’t received orders like the one Mors mentioned to him, leaving for Insomnia. His gut is twisted up inside at the thought. He doesn’t want to go to the city, he never thought anything of it. He wanted to fight, but he also wanted to win, and he didn’t get that either.

He almost misses his name call, stumbling from the shitty folding chair and stepping across the sand and walking to the stage. They read all his awards. Lucian Medal of Distinction, the Lion Badge, the Lucian Golden Star, and a list of basic less valued medals that a soldier gets simply for surviving a war, and for being injured as well. The whole time, Mors is tasked with taking the ugly medals from a pillow, and placing it on Cor’s uniform. He starts running out of space on the right side and puts some on the left side of Cor’s shirt. After that, Cor bows, feeling his shirt weighed down by a bunch of dangling medals. He stands upright, and shakes the King’s hand.

“Thank you, your Majesty.”

“Did you forget? Just Mors is fine.”

Cor furrowed his brow. He still doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“It is a shame you have no family to see your achievements.”

Cor does not respond.

“I will you see you in the Citadel soon.” Mors tells him.

“Yessir.”

Cor nods his head finishes shaking the King’s hand. He walks down the way, and a newspaper camera films him and one snaps his picture but he cannot bring himself to smile. He feels drained, like a leaking container, slowly spilling out his energy into the desert floor, only to be eaten up by the sand. By the time he sits back in his chair, he feels totally empty.

So he will be in Insomnia.

So he won’t be in the front lines.

The whole time he sits there, he can’t pay attention to anyone else, or the speech done afterwards, or the General’s kind and stern remarks about life and about gods, and about sacrifice. He never notices the King is watching him for a long time, as Cor never looks up. His head is low. Cor only thinks of his friends, back home, and the ones that died beside him.

He wants to tell Isaac about today, and something hits him; he’s not even sure where his body is, or where it went.

When the ceremony ends, he goes to the sergeant major, the one who vouched for him the other day, and asks where his old friend was buried.

“They took them home, kid. They took him home so they could bury him. Back to Old Lestallum.”

Cor walks away after that. He cannot go back there, to Old Lestallum, so he cannot even see their grave. He figures he was the poorest of them, so they must at least have a nice gravestone, or perhaps an urn, considering what was left of them.

* * *

Cor goes to Insomnia City alone, and he feels it the whole time.

He has never been in a city his whole life. He’d heard Lestallum was pretty busy and crowded, and nothing like Old Lestallum, but they said if Lestallum was a candle, Insomnia was a burning brush fire. It was massive, uncontrollable, easy to get lost in; it was filled with people and cars and technology he had never heard of before.

He first took a bus from Formouth all the way to the south point of Leide, right at the gates of the southern bridge into Insomnia City. There was a small stop, and another bus to transfer to, a much nicer one, with air conditioning. He sits on a bus with his duffle bag, watching the other soldiers who had also been picked up.

He sticks out quite a bit, not him personally, but because of the giant box he carried that takes up most of the front seats on the bus. It’s longer than he is, almost twice his height even, taking up a lot of space on the left side of the bus. It’s a cardboard box, inside containing one of the only things Cor had left from home – a sword. He watches some soldiers look at it, grumble, and sit on the right side of the bus.

The ride is long. After so much time with the hot Leide sun on their backs, and the horrible hot boxes called a barrack, Cor was used to the heat, and the cold A/C was getting to him. He doesn’t say anything. He just watches the world pass by.

A couple soldiers get on at one stop at the Insomnia International Airport. One had a strange blue and silver device, and he put something flat, rectangular and black inside it. It has a wire in it, and goes all the way up to his ears. He clicked a button, and leaned back in his seat.

“What is that?” Cor asked, after tapping him on the shoulder.

“Fuck off kid.” The man returned.

Cor sat back down. He heard music coming out of the man’s ears. Cor settled himself in his bus seat, his feet only barely touched the ground. He watched. The window on the bus was blurry, but he had nothing else to look at. The very edge of the Old Wall was surrounded with murals and statues, and graffiti. The streets were massive, and paved, and unlike any sandy dirty roads.

There are more cars than he’d ever seen in his life, all on this road, he imagines, as he experiences traffic for the first time. There’s a large billboard for a musician he’s never heard of, and his show at some place he’s also never heard of. There’s buildings as far as the eye can see. The sunlight is reflecting off of something overhead, in the sky, and Cor realized it was the wall, the barrier that was across all over Lucis. In Old Lestallum it is barely visible when it rains, and in Leide it was a bit more common to only see the sheen just after it had rained. Now it was bright like a thick layer of hexagonal glass above the area.

The ride feels like forever with nothing to do and nothing to see, and even the new sight of a city grows old after three and a half hours. By the time he has reached the Citadel, he is the only one on the bus, there was three stops before at different bases and barracks.

Cor takes his duffle bag, and pulls the boxed sword under his arm. The bus driver offers to help pull his luggage—but that’s all the luggage he has. So he drives off, and Cor stands at the base of the Citadel’s main entrance, looking up the stone steps. There is a roundabout road just in front of the Citadel, and it is full of cars going around, and the sidewalks are full of tourists snapping pictures of the large black marble building. In the center, Cor sees a large pillar of light, where the crystalline wall comes to its center.

Cor carried his duffle bag on his back, walking up the marble steps, trying not to bump anyone with his box. The sword had to be boxed for transferring, since there was more strict laws in Insomnia about drawn weapons. He entered the lobby, and a sheet of air hit his head from above the doorway. Air conditioning, and the smell of pine cleaner. There are a lot of people in suits, and even more Crownsguard, and they all give him a stare.

Eventually, a Crownsguard stops him from moving forward.

“We need to inspect your belongings.” They tell him. “No unauthorized items.” They gesture to the sign, no fireworks, guns, knives, magic flasks, no liquids more than a gallon. Cor blinked.

“I work here.”

“Right…” The Crownsguard replied. After a bit of a look at Cor, they hold their hand out. “Identification?”

Cor unzips the duffle bag, and the air suddenly feels denser, as if the pressure changed. He pulls out his wallet, and takes a crumpled paper that was his Citadel summons, and his Formouth Base ID.

The Crownsguard soldier smooths out the crumpled paper, squinting at the coffee stain and then looked at his ID.

“Ah.” A huff, and they return the two items to Cor. “You’re new. Go to the second floor. Get an ID for the Central Citadel Camp. Then come back to this floor, and go out that door.” The man pointed to the left of the office, towards a glassy door that seemed to have a view of a garden. “Go through the King’s Garden, and out to the back of the Citadel. The Camp is just behind.”

“Thank you.” Cor nodded his head, and tucked the ID and paper into his pocket.

The idea of an elevator was a bit new to Cor, and he’d never been in one before. He sees some people go in the small cramped space, and the black doors shut and they vanish. He heard there was a lot more mage users at the Citadel – and mage arts were not something Cor was wholly familiar with, only that it was very exclusive to royalty. He wondered if that box was the work of mages, and given how he didn’t think his sword was going to fit in that box, he just searched around for the stairs, and walked up to the second floor.

The directory was by the elevators on the second floor as well, and he read it, and walked to the ‘Crownsguard Office’ unsure where else to go.

A woman was sitting there with cokebottle glasses on, and her hair up so tight it looked like the strands of her hair could snap. She was typing away at an electric typewriter. He’d never seen an electric one before.

“Can I help you?” She had a loud but firm voice.

Cor held out his ID and letter.

The woman didn’t even glance and said. “Go to the back office, take a left in the hall behind me.” She pointed behind herself towards a couple other doors. “They’ll make you a new ID, and then you go find your C.O. and get situated in the barracks.”

“Thank you ma’am.”

“Mhm.” Is her only response, and she never even looks up from her typing.

Cor finds another lady, thankfully there are signs that clearly say ‘Crownsguard ID’ on the office, and they sit him down to take a picture. He feels uncomfortable putting on a fake smile, and they take the photo and put it in some machine. Cor watched, a lot of interest in the whole process, he’d never seen it done before. She inputs the information from his old ID. It prints out the card right there, and she puts it in his hand and Cor feels it is strangely warm.

“Have a nice day.” She tells him. Cor nods his head and leaves the office trying to bump as few things as he can with the box.

He remembers the instructions, and goes downstairs and exits out into the King’s Garden.

After three hours of nothing but concrete to look at, he breathes a sigh of relief. It’s more green, like Old Lestallum, but there are also plants he has never seen before. Dark green grass, blue hydrangeas, a tall Duscaean orange tree, sea hibiscus, roses, orchids, sylleblossoms, and countless other flowers he’d never heard of. Cor had never seen certain flowers grow together, and as he got close to one, he realized something. The air around the orchids were humid and warm, but the air around the roses was cold. There was an eerie mist around the top of the sylleblossoms, collecting in dew on the delicate flowers.

Around the outside of the garden there are people going on tours, and people giving grand explanations of the Citadel, and the King’s Garden. Cor catches some words.

“These plants all belong in different climates, and from places all over Eos, from Niflheim to Besaid… they are kept alive and healthy by the King’s Magic, which acclimates their needs… King Mors says it is like Insomnia City itself, people from all over Eos live here, and it is important to let them thrive in this—”

Cor jumped when he heard a gasp, and felt something behind him. Cor turned around on a dime, and stared. There was a thin pale boy, he was delicate looking, long wavy black hair framed his face, and wearing a long sleeve white cotton shirt, and some purple vest. He twitched back, and then hid from view in a bush of Ulwaat berries.

Something didn’t sit right with Cor. He put his hand on the top of the box, ready to open it and pull out his sword. The Ulwaat berries also had this mist above it, like the sylleblossoms. He tried to enter the berry bush, and he felt that sudden heavy pressure like he did when he opened his duffle bag. He noticed something blue in the air, and reached out to grasp it, but it faded. It looked almost like a light.

The next moment there was a sudden eruption of chattering and camera shutters going off. Cor stood in place and looked to the garden to see the commotion.

The King had entered the garden, and smiled warmly and graced the tourists with pictures. He walked along a rock pathway that was in a shallow koi pond. The fish swam up and around the rocks, perhaps looking for food, it almost looked like he summoned them to him. The chattering grew louder, and he steps off the final stepping stone across the pond and over to the other side of the garden, where there is a velvet rope to section off the area. The group of tourist lunge close to the velvet rope as Mors approaches, more camera shutter, more chatter. He shook some hands, and some of the people started thrusting their hands out, and a young girl shrieked when the King brushed her hand. He didn’t waver for a moment, and Cor watched something odd.

Someone jumped over the railing, and tried to approach the King, it didn’t look violent, but that meant nothing. Cor was going to open the box, and pull out his sword,  but in a moment a flash of light, green, different from the cameras, appeared, and there was a shield in the Crownsguard’s hand, and they pushed the person back with it.

Cor watched, the situation was handled and the person was pushed back and taken out by security, and all with Mors noticing with a small smile, pretending as if nothing at all had happened. He walked away from the people, into a part of the garden that was not accessible to tourists, stepping back over the stepping stones of a different pond, little circles of ice forming on the stone as he walked. He entered a gazebo, and quietly sat down and had someone bring him tea and a set of afternoon tea snacks.

“Hey, are you supposed to be here?” The shield Crownsguard asked.

Cor pulled out his new ID card, and showed it to the officer. The woman nodded, and gestured away. The shield disappeared in the same greenish light.

Cor moved along, trying not to act like he noticed much of anything, still wondering about that shield. He was also thinking about the boy in the Ulwaat berry bush, but most of all, he was thinking about King Mors himself.

He held the box under his arm, trying to make sure not to bump into anything with it. He stepped behind the tourist area, over to an open hallway that went to the backside of the Citadel, and down a set of stairs towards a walk-in entrance. He arrived at the tall gate and offered his ID again to the security guard, and walked into the area behind the Citadel, and into the Crownsguard area.

It was a lot more relieving to have some area that felt familiar. The Citadel was bustling with people, workers and tourist alike, and not to mention the small moment with the King he had just witnessed. Once he stepped into the fence, there was mostly empty streets, the security guards dressed in black with vests on that said ‘security’ in all capital letters in white. There was hardly anyone around, either at home or just elsewhere, other than the occasional jogger, nobody was around.

The barracks was a bit of a walk, about two miles, but he was glad to stretch his legs, even carrying an awkward box and duffle bag. Other than the King’s garden, this seemed to be the only place that had grass in the town. The area was large, but he just headed up to his barrack first. It was nothing like Leide, out there it was hot, no air conditioning, dusty, everything got sand on it in the first week.

He checked in at the lobby, and they explained to him that he had a roommate who had already been there for 5 months. Cor nodded, taking the key to room 402 and walking up the stairs again.

The barracks were more spacious than in Formouth, but also had more stuff inside them. Since someone was here before him, there was a lot of stuff around the room. Opening the door, there was a small room with a sink in it, and a door to the right – he opened it. A toilet and a shower. He shut the door, and moved down that wall, where there was a closet. The closet was full on both sides – not that it mattered, Cor had fit all his clothes inside a duffle bag, he didn’t really need the space except to hang up certain uniforms.

After the small sink room, there was one other room, the bedroom. The first thing he noticed was the bed was bigger, and longer, and there was an actual desk and electrical outlets for lamps or a radio. There was an air conditioner under the window, and the window could open more than a crack. Cor immediately opened the window, it didn’t feel stuffy, but he wanted fresh air anyway.

One bed is totally empty, save for a uniform laid out on it. There’s no sheets, and no pillow. Cor figured he’d have to buy his own. He didn’t come with much money, and he was willing to use the duffle bag as a makeshift pillow for a while, but he knew he would have to buy sheets. Making the bed was mandatory for inspection, he only hoped his C.O. was not so strict, the one in Formouth expected to be able to bounce a 20 gil piece on the sheets, they would have to be drawn that tight and smooth.

On his roommates side, their desk is full of books, vinyl albums, and more of those small black cartridges with that blue and silver contraption with headphones, and hardly any actual space to read or work on the table. There’s a desk lamp. He set the box and duffle bag on what must’ve been his bed, before he picked up the uniform that was laid on his bed. The roommates bed was neatly made, so he set the uniform down on their bed.

There was posters on their wall, of some sports team, another one was artwork of some mage in in a candy red suit, white buttons, brown boots, a long red cape, and a bright red witches hat with a white feather. She held aloft a staff with a red crystal ball on it, and the letters RMG were inside the crystal. On closer inspection Cor saw the phrase ‘Join the Red Mage Guild Today! Meeting every Thursday night.’ and some hours and dates and an address of what he assumed was a meeting place. There was actually a couple other things about red mages on his roommates side, books about it, another poster, and then a piece of paper that had the hours that certain places closed up shop. Cor figured he could use that paper too, although he needed a map, he didn’t know where much of anything was. Other than that, there was photos of dogs, and a group shot of what seemed to be the Red Mage Guild, all wearing red outfits. He couldn’t really figure out which one was his roommate.

There’s a small fridge by his roommates bed, and he glanced at the front door before kneeling down to take a peek.

There’s some green bottles that come to a point at the bottom, and have long silver caps, about 10 bottles of that are sitting in a little stand. There’s also a feather, for some reason, in the shelf, hovering, and Cor nervously stays away from that. Other than that, he spots the door is full of black orbs and labelled ‘Thundaga’ while the ones on the bottom are labeled ‘Holyga’. Cor tried to search for something familiar – other than a can of Ebony coffee, he came up dry.

He shut the fridge door carefully, to not jostle the orbs, and opened the small freezer door. In there was just a bunch of the same orbs, this one labeled ‘Blizzara’ and a frozen TV dinner of garula shortribs. Not much else besides that.

Cor decided he was done investigating, and immediately went to organize himself. He took off his hat, setting it on his empty desk, and then finally pulled off his shoes just to let his feet breathe.

He pulled the sword box, and unpacked it from the box. He pulled the long blade out of the box, it was wrapped in black cloth. He slowly unwrapped it, and started to polish the blade a bit before securing it on his back. The handle was red, Cor had wrapped it up tightly, and the handguard was wrapped up as well. The blade was silver, markings carved along the dull end and around the blade, some pattern he wasn’t familiar with. He traced his hand along the carvings, feeling how sturdy it was. The blade was long and had no sheathe, but he had gotten familiar with it enough. He thinks about how his mother would carry it – and then he stops thinking about the sword at all.

He puts his boots on, and replaces his hat to go outside, figuring he could get a lay of the land, and walks down to the lobby only for the front desk to tell him sternly. “No drawn weapons while in and around the Citadel barracks.”

Cor furrowed his brow. “This weapon isn’t drawn.”

“It isn’t in a sheath.”

“It don’t have one.”

“It’s not in your weapon hold.”

Cor raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

 “Your weapon hold.” The front desk told him. “You don’t have one?”

“No sir.”

“… Are you from out of Insomnia City?”

“Formouth. I just got here.”

“Ah.” The front desk clerk nods his head. “You need to see your commanding officer and get an audience with the King.”

“The King?”

“Yes, it’s mandatory.”

Cor nodded his head. “Yessir.” He concluded, giving no resistance.

“You best do it now. It might take two or three months to get an audience with him.”

He had to get sent around before figuring out who his commanding office even was. At the very least, the Citadel base was quite large, and there was some nice scenery. There was a couple of schools for military kids, and some parks, a skating rink, a soccer field, sandy volleyball place, a large swimming pool. There was a few buildings for military families, and there were kids playing around nearby them. Not too far down was the commissary and Cor made a note to see what they sold to eat, especially if the mess hall was as bad as Formouth. There was a hospital, a dentist, and past that were the actual offices.

Cor asked where his C.O. was at the registration offices, and after looking over his ID they sent him to another building where hand to hand combat was going on, a lot of padded floors in a large gym that looked about the size of three basketball courts. Cor looked around, and spotted the person he was told to find, Commander Trellis, a tall woman with a pale brown complexion and white hair tied back in a small bun. She had black eyes, and watched over the people training, and actively participated in showing them what to do.

Some young man was with the Trellis at all times, just watching, not saying anything, trying to look stern. He had long brown hair and barely a beard on his face. As Cor stood there, perhaps threateningly with that sword on his back, so the young boy had his attention caught. The young boy approached Cor and folded his arms.

“Looking for your dad?”

Cor curled his lip. “No.”

The boy squinted at him even harder. “Your mom then?”

“No. I work here.”

“Yeah right.” The boy snorted.

Cor pulled out his ID again, and held it out for the boy to see.

The boy looked at the ID in shock, and then looked around. “Bullshit. You can’t be a Corporal. That’s a higher rank than me!”

Cor didn’t say anything.

The boy looked irritable. “That’s crazy, you look like you’re still a kid.” He kept looking at Cor’s ID. Cor blinked. He looked down, realizing the ID said he was born in 706 M.E. Sometimes he forgot that while the cat had slipped out of the bag, it was simply slipped right back into another one. Nobody had to know his age. He was fine with that.

“Clarus, what are you yelling about?” Trellis spoke up.

“This kid is a corporal and he’s only 17. I’m not even a Corporal. He outranks me and he's Regis's age.”

“Corporal?” Trellis looked at Cor, and then his sword and went. “Ah. You’re the young man who just got transferred here from Formouth. You were in Keycatrich, yes?”

Cor nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

Trellis furrowed her brow. “A terrible battle, but at least you have come out of it alive.”

Cor didn’t say anything to that.

“I see you have your weapon out, so I better make an appointment to the King. You’ll need to use a weapon hold.”

“Yes ma’am.” Cor still had no idea what a weapon hold was, but he wouldn’t ask. If nobody felt the need to tell him, then it wasn’t that important.

“In the meantime, please put this on your weapon.”

Trellis went to a room off the side of the training area, and came back with a gold pendant, about the size of a walnut, flat, and carried the insignia that every other Crownsguard seemed to have.

“Wrap this around your weapon, as a sign that you are permitted to carry it out in the open until you have your weapon hold.”

Cor took the pendant, he looked closely at the item, seeing the golden symbol of Bahamut and the 15 blades. He pulled his sword handle down and fastened it to his sword handle.

With promise that she would contact King Mors as soon as possible, she dismissed him, and Cor bowed his head, and left, deciding to go back to his barrack. Cor felt the sword scraping on the ground so he tightened his tie around the sheathe a few more times to pull it up a bit. He went to the store first to buy some bedsheets, looking for something that wasn’t itchy but also not expensive. It cost about 20 gil and even that was a bite of change. He hadn’t gotten last months paycheck, and he did spend most of it in a trench, so he wasn’t sure exactly what the total was going to be, if it would stay the same or not.

He pulls the sheets around his bedding, and puts the sword back in the black cloth, and set it under his bed. He quietly looked at the pendant, but didn’t do anything with it, leaving it on the sword. Cor put his duffle bag under his head, and despite the afternoon light still coming through, he decided to shut his eyes and get a few moments rest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting. I appreciate it so much. I have no beta reader, so forgive me for any grammar or spelling issues.


	3. Constantine the Red Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor makes a friend, whether he knows it or not.

Those few moments of rest never came, it felt like the moment Cor’s head hit his duffle bag, the front door was flung open with a loud slam, and Cor sat up in his bed. A man walked in, tall, over six feet tall, wearing black pointed boots, with golden buckles, polished neatly, and full black Crownsguard uniform that seemed standard. He had brown skin, raw sienna complexion, extremely curly black hair, and dark brown eyes. His eyebrows were thick, and he walks into his room and he raised one of those thick eyebrows in concern.

“Oh!” The man jolted, and relaxed, stumbling back a bit when he realizes there’s someone in the bed. “Sheesh, you scared me.”

Cor didn’t say anything to that. He felt the air had gotten thicker again, like before, pressurized.

“Give me a moment.” The man put his hand over his heart, and exhaled. “I gotta collect myself.”

“Excuse me.” Cor finally remarked.

The man shook his head. He smiled, showing his white teeth and held his hand out to Cor. “Constantine Risorath. Please. Call me Connie.”

Cor reached out and shook his hand. Connie clapped another hand over Cor’s using both his hands to shake.

“What’s your name?” Connie asked.

Cor blinked. “Cor.”

“Cor?” Connie replied. “Another C name. Good. I like it. You got a last name?”

“Leonis.”

“Ah.” Connie let go of his hand, and Cor realized what a strong grip he had. “Very Lucian.” He said, not elaborating past that. “I heard I was getting a new roomie, I was wondering when you’d pop in… I thought you’d be taller.” Connie picked up his uniform off his own bed and then set it on his desk over his books.

“Where you from?”

“Formouth.”

“I mean before that.”

“Pardon?”

Connie made some gesture with his hands. “You know. Before this. Where’d you come from? Unless you were born in Formouth _and_ worked there.”

“Oh. Old Lestallum.”

“Huh! My family was in Cleigne too. Well. Sort of. Immigrants and all. When they came to this country they liked it up there so much we called ourselves Risorath. Then the malboros moved in so we moved here.” He grins a bit and chuckles, perhaps he finds something about that funny.

Cor distinctly remembered that area, Risorath Basin, only that it was swampy marshlands, and hunters would go up there often. “I see.”

“So you just got here?”

“Few hours ago.” Cor replied.

“That’s great. You want a candy?” Connie offered a bag with individually wrapped candies. The package was in a language he’d never seen before.

“No thank you.”

Connie unwrapped one, popped it into his mouth, and set the candy bag on top of his mini-fridge before walking to the closet.

“Oh, I better make room for you.” Connie told him. “Give me a second.” Connie went to the closet, and pulled his clothes by several hangers and put them on the left side.

“It’s fine.” Cor confirmed. “I don’t have much stuff to hang up.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Connie said, Cor heard clothing hit the floor, and Connie stepped back in his underwear, looking around at the clothes from a distance. Cor caught a scar under either side of his chest, under his nipples, one of which was pierced - or maybe both were pierced, Cor couldn't tell. His ears were pierced as well, although he wore no earrings. He had freckles on his back, and a burn wound that healed an angry red on his left hip, but the rest of the scar disappeared into his boxers. His left hand also had scars, it looked like burns, and his brown skin was reddish around that scar on his palm. Connie turned to look at Cor, and Cor looked away. “You been around?”

“A little.”

“You haven’t seen all the facilities then?”

“Not yet.”

“Well I’ll show you.” Connie remarked.

Connie ducked back into the closet and came out in jeans, a t-shirt with some sports team logo, and an orange leather jacket.

“Come on.”

“It’s all right, I'll be fine.”

“Nah, I’m off duty anyway. Let me show you around the place.”

Cor contemplated taking his sword, but he left it under the bed, and just took a pocket knife out of his duffle bag, and put his wallet in the other pocket. Without much thought, Connie was taking him down the hall of the dorms, which just felt like row after row of rooms, until they reached the end, and Connie showed him the laundry room.

“Thankfully we don’t got communal showers, we get our own, and laundry rooms are on every floor.”

“They are?” Cor raised a brow. “In Leide it was in a different building.”

“I hear the barracks in Lucis can be a bit crap compared to the ones in Insomnia.” Connie remarked. “I don’t have a hard time believing that. It’s hot in Leide isn’t it? And sandy.”

“A bit.” Cor said.

“Hm.” Connie looked around at the laundry room. Cor had never really seen this many dryers and washing machines before. “Well, good news is, nobody has to fight around for a machine to use, there’s too many. This place is pretty good like that, but sometimes it can be busy, in the heart of Insomnia. I hear the facility up north is way better – it’s closer to King Mors’s estate that's why. He takes good care of the people close to him.”

Cor didn’t come up with any response to that.

“How long you been in service?” Connie asked him.

Cor blinked. “Three months… this makes four.”

“Oh, you’re new then. No wonder you look so young. How old are you anyway?” Connie asked casually as he opened the door to leave the laundry room.

Cor hesitated. “Ss…seventeen.” He had to remember the number.

“What?” Connie stopped and turned his head. “You’re still a kid!”

“How old are you?” Cor returned.

“24. I’ve been in service for two years.” Connie put his scarred hand on his forehead and said. “Wow… seventeen. You’ll make me feel _old_.” Then he grinned and waved his hand for Cor to follow. With nothing better to do, Cor obeyed.

Connie always seemed to have a grin on his face. “Well.” He mentioned. “Maybe I can sneak a drink for you or something out of the club. Insomnia drinking age is 20 – ridiculous, right? Outland Lucis is 18. I guess you still can’t either way. Do you drink?”

“I did a little bit.” Cor admitted.

Connie smiled again. His teeth were pale but clean white, Cor found himself staring at Connie’s face a bit too often. He headed back down the hall and then fished his keys out of his pocket.

“Better safe than sorry.” He stops in front of their barrack room, opens the door, and walks in, and opens the fridge. He pulls out three orbs, Thundaga, Holyga, and then pops into the freezer to get Blizzara.

Cor doesn’t realize it until now, but there’s a chain attached to his belt on either side of Connie’s pants. Connie attaches each orb to evenly along the chains, it seems like either side of his pants can hold about four, but he puts the three orbs on his left hip.

“Feels better to walk around with at least one flask.”

Cor raised his brow, but he doesn’t feel like asking questions, he just notices that bluish frost forms on the top one – he assumes that one was in the freezer, and the other one glows faintly purple, while the one on the bottom was glowing white.

“Well, lets not dilly-dally, c’mon. You hungry?” Connie beckons Cor down the hallway. Cor continued to stare and Connie stopped and looked back at Cor.

“Is something wrong?”

Cor shook his head.

Connie looked down at himself, following Cor’s gaze to his left holster. “You never seen a magic flask before?”

Cor shook his head again.

“Ah. So I take it your aren’t a mage then.”

“No.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Connie decided. “Maybe I need a non-mage roommate in my life.”

Cor didn’t say anything. Connie turned left at the end of the hallways and taps the elevator button. Cor sits there in the silence for a moment, and Connie taps his foot a bit, looking around, rolling his head and then rolling his shoulders.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“I guess not.”

“That’s okay. I like that. I know some people who talk a little _too_ much.”

 _Would their names be Constantine?_ Cor kept the thought to himself.

Connie led him to the elevator, and Cor hesitated, but he got in with Connie. He felt a bit nervous, but nothing happened. They stood inside it, and simply got off on a different floor. He never really had been in one before, so the sensation was not one he usually felt.

“You been to the mess hall?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, it’s almost dinner.”

The door opened, and Connie walked out, and Cor quickly behind him, worried the doors would close on him, and he wouldn’t know what to do inside the elevator if that happened.

Connie walked out to the entrance, and Cor felt a cool breeze come down from the hills, and hit his side. Connie gasped suddenly.

“Wait!” He put his hand on Cor’s chest, and Cor stopped abruptly, hand at his pocket.

“Formouth you said, right?”

Cor took his hand off his pocket. “Yeah.”

“You were at _Keycatrich_?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit.”

Cor shrugged, but he grabbed Connie’s wrist and pulled it off his chest.

“Geez…” Connie sighed. “That must’ve been terrible.”

“It’s over now.” Cor said, and after a pause, added. “We lost.”

Connie looked at him, his brown eyes were dark, in the afternoon light they looked warm, especially since his thick brows furrowed in concern. “I mean… at least you’re alive huh?” Connie patted Cor’s shoulder. “We can celebrate being alive. I’ll buy you dinner."

Cor would’ve liked to object. He just wanted to sleep, but he’d been sleeping a lot since he came back from the trench, and he doesn’t feel any need to do more of it.

When he enters the mess hall it hits him that he hasn’t eaten all day, he didn’t bother to buy anything before he left Formouth.

The mess hall is not very crowded, and the smell is not too disgusting, so Cor can manage holding an appetite.

“Sit here.” Connie pushed him over to a table in the corner closest to the door of the mess hall. It was a circular table with individual seats, and Cor settled there and folded his arms and waited. The radio was playing some Galahdian song, and he didn’t know much about that music, but it sounded a bit strange to him.

Above that, he could hear Connie talking loudly with the lunch lady, and he mentioned Cor, or Cor imagined he did, because Connie turned and pointed to him, and then went back to the lunch lady and chatted. He couldn’t hear what he was saying, just that he was laughing and smiling.

“Oh.”

Cor heard a voice, and turned to look at two people. An older woman, and a younger man. The older woman was thin, gangly looking almost, only because she was tall, and had pale blond hair, almost white, she almost looked young, but there was wrinkles around her lips, and her eyes. Her skin was the palest Cor had ever seen, almost as pale as milk, and she had a dust of pink on her cheeks, but it looked more like sunburns. She wore a black tank top and capri pants, and she nervously twiddled her thumbs when she looked at Cor. She had ice blue eyes.

The man was thicker around the middle, also pale, although not as much as the girl, and he was wearing his black Crownsguard uniform, as well as a red hat with a white feather in it, he had bright ginger hair, and a shaved beard. The two both looked confused, and Cor didn’t say anything, trying not to make a concerned face to them. The girl started to fidget more nervously when Cor stared.

“Oh, um… excuse me…” her voice is a whisper, her eyes glancing away.

“Crystal! Angelo!”

The two fidgeting people settled down when they heard Connie’s voice. Cor looked to see Connie coming over with two trays of… something. Cor wasn’t entirely sure. He set them down on the table, and Cor could see they were chili cheese fries. Then Connie turned to the two people, and hugged the both of them around the neck and pulled them in. Cor noticed they had an awkward expression of a smile and almost embarrassment, Connie was a lot taller than both of them.

“This is my roommate.” Connie released them, and gestured to Cor. “Cor Leonis.”

They both seemed completely relaxed at that. “I see.”

“Cor.” Connie said, he gestured to the woman. “This is Crystal.” Then the man. “That’s Angelo.”

“Are you a red mage too?”

Cor couldn’t even speak before Connie spoke up.

“He’s not any type of mage!” Connie concluded. “He just came in from Formouth. He was in the Battle for Keycatrich.”

Crystal gasped, and put both her hands over her mouth.

“Astrals bless you.” Angelo remarks, and he does some gesture that Cor remembered seeing people do in the trench. He tapped twice over his heart, with his fingers crossed. Cor figured it was religious.

“A lot of people died.” Crystal’s voice is so hard to hear Cor couldn’t even register she said that.

“Yeah.” Cor replied.

“You must’ve been through hell.”

“Well whatever he’s been through, he’s landed himself here.” Connie remarked. “Don’t stare at him like that and sit down.” Connie turned to Cor. "You have to excuse them." He chuckled. "Usually it just us red mage weirdos who sit at this table."

Connie sat down next to Cor, Crystal sat with a chair between her and Cor, and Angelo on Connie’s other side. There was four other empty chairs.

“What do you do?” Angelo asked.

“Pardon?”

“You’re not a mage, right?”

“Uh… no sir.”

“So what do you do?”

“I… fight?”

The man and Connie chuckled. “Well, we all fight, we’re Crownsguard for a reason. I mean what do you use?”

“A sword.”

“Really? Can we see it?” Angelo asked.

“I don’t have it on me.”

“You don’t? You didn’t put it in your weapon hold?”

“He doesn’t have one yet. He’s only been in service three months, and this is the first time he been stationed in Insomnia.”

Connie talked with a mouth full of chili cheese fries, so Cor took the plastic fork and shoved some in his own mouth. It felt like Connie could do all the talking for him. The chili is greasy, and fries feel like mush, and the cheese is the kind that you can get in a spray can – it’s familiar, and warm, that makes it edible enough, and Cor can handle a forkful of it. His jaw still hurts a bit, but it’s been healing since.

“What’s it like to fight out there?” Crystal’s whispering voice wormed it’s way into Cor’s ear. Angelo stepped out to get something to eat. Cor looked at her.

“I don’t know. I didn’t fight for very long.”

She seemed concerned, but it’s hard to tell, her hair is so pale, and on her pale skin it’s hard to tell she has eyebrows at all, let alone if she furrowed them or not. She had her hand on her jaw, slowly rubbing circles around the lower side of it. She had thin bony fingers, and mildly long fingernails.

“You were hurt.” She said suddenly.

Cor nodded. “Yeah.”

“It was an elemancy bomb?”

“It was a regular bomb.”

Her voice is getting quieter, and Cor wished she didn’t sit a chair away from him because he can’t hear her.

“It fractured your jaw.”

Cor stopped eating and stared at her.

“… Yeah.” He said after a long pause.

She reached out, touching his cheek. Her hands are freezing cold.

“Cura.” She whispers, and out of the corner of his eye he sees bright green.

Cor threw himself back, away from her hand, out of his chair, almost dropping his plate on the floor, and he stumbled, almost falling on his back until Connie jumped out of his own seat and grabbed him before he fell.

“Woah!” Connie jumped and grabbed Cor by his shoulders. “Hey, don’t worry, Crystal knows what she’s doing, she’s no white mage but she’s good enough!”

“What did you do to me?”

Even Connie looked confused at Cor. “You really don’t know any magic at all?” Connie asked. “Cura is a real gentle spell, it’s like a painkiller. You can feel it, can’t you?”

Cor shifted his jaw. He felt the wire in his mouth, but it wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable. He relaxed a bit, and awkwardly sat back down. “Oh.” He murmured.

Cor adjusted his hat and looked down. The three of them were silent around him. Even the mess hall some people had turned their heads to see what the commotion was about, but they quickly lost interest. He sighed. “I’ve never seen a mage before.”

“You don’t say?” Connie asked. “Well it’s nothing to worry about.”

Cor shifted. “They said I didn’t pass any aptitude test for magic it anyway… most of the people I worked with didn’t.”

“I hear they prefer the outland people to fight the battles instead of doing magic…” Crystal remarked.

“Well I did fight.” Cor huffed. “And I got my ass kicked.”

Cor sat in silence and started picking at the food. The more they talked about Keycatrich, the more his stomach got twisted up.

“Come on, lets not bring up bad memories.” Connie told him. “You’re gonna love it here. I have a good feeling about that. When you get your audience with King Mors, maybe we’ll see if you’re mage material.”

“I don’t think so.” Cor remarked.

“Aw, come now, Crystal didn’t scare you off that fast, did she?” Connie asked.

Crystal looked down at her lap, and didn’t say anything for a little bit.

Cor looked over to Connie. “You called it the King’s Magic.”

Connie nodded. “Yeah. Only the Lucis Caelum’s are allowed to use it. Well. They control it, and they can give it away all willy-nilly too.” He tilted his head. “You don’t know anything about Magic?”

“Not really. They don’t train mages in Formouth.”

“Most bases outside of Insomnnia doesn’t.” Angelo returned with a large thick slice of toast, a croissant, a pile of mashed potatoes, some behemoth meat sausages, brown gravy smothered over the latter two. “Well, even if you did test high for magic aptitude, it’s rare that they send someone from the outland all the way to Insomnia. You can’t use the King’s Magic without the King’s permission. It would cost too much to send you out here, especially a new recruit; unless you really showed aptitude for it.” Angelo remarked as he sat down, his hips have to squeeze in a bit to fit in the chairs.

“Even then you have to meet the King, and that took me what? Six months, right?” Connie added.

“He was a scary looking man.” Crystal spoke up.

“Oh yeah.” Angelo agreed.

“I got chills for sure.” Connie remarked. “That might’ve been the Elemancy, though.”

“You’ll see it for yourself.” Angelo remarked, taking a big bite of sausage.

“I’ve already met Mors.”

“You have?” Connie asked.

Cor paused. He realized he met Mors when he was defending him from being discharged, and given how easily Connie runs his mouth, he didn’t feel like telling him anything like that – not that he would have either way. The secret best stay that way, he understood that. So he thought a bit more.

“At the award ceremony. The Keycatrich survivors got awards, and the King was there to give them.”

“Oh!” Connie nearly shook the table as he jumped up. “I knew I saw you somewhere! You’re the boy in the picture.”

“The picture?”

“In the newspaper.” Connie explained. “A couple weeks ago they printed about the Keycatrich battle.” Connie nodded. “There was a lot of stuff about the attack…” He trails off a bit. “Well, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it. I forgot King Mors attended it personally.”

“He went to meet Emperor Aldercapt too…” Crystal murmured.

“The day he wore white.” Cor remarked. _The day he let me off the hook._ He thought.

“All this stuff spells trouble, huh?” Connie sighed. He was halfway through his chili cheese fries, stabbing at them with his fork. “But we’re here, and alive, so I can’t ask for much more.” He stabbed more fries. “Let’s eat and just be in the spirit of things. It’ll be the weekend pretty soon. We should be looking forward to things, and we have a new friend too.”

Cor just wasn’t in the mood to be called that. He didn’t say anything, and Connie stood up. “Crystal, you want anything?”

“No thank you.” She declined.

“No? They have that strawberry milk today, I can make you a strawberry milk coffee.”

Crystal was silent for a moment. “Okay.” She decided.

Connie stood up. He took his empty plate. “Cor, you want anything else?”

Cor looked Connie over. “I should pay.”

Connie shook his head firmly. His curly hair bounces when he does that. “Nah. This is on me tonight. Your my roommate, I can do this one small thing, can’t I?” Connie held his hand out. “You didn’t finish, you want a box for that?”

Cor felt overcome with concern the way Connie spoke to him. It reminded him of being taken care of. Of his mother.

“No.” Cor replied.

“Okay.” Connie smiled and walked away with his tray.

Angelo was chewing carefully on a sausage and licked his lips. When Connie was out of earshot, he leaned in closer. “Don’t worry about Connie, he’s a bit of a handful, but you can tell he means well.”

Cor stared. He wasn’t worried, but part of him felt uncomfortable. Being taken care of… well that was one of the reasons he wanted to leave. It was his turn to take care of others… yet in Keycatrich… and now here…

“I can’t even take care of myself.” Cor said suddenly.

“Hey, Connie doesn’t mean anything like that, he’s just a bit overbearing.” Angelo said. “You must’ve been through a lot, so you should take it easy here, kid.”

“How old are you anyway?” Angelo had a forkful of mashed potatoes, the food honestly tempts Cor to eat more, but he just doesn’t feel up to the challenge.

“Seventeen.”

Angelo almost shot mashed potatoes out of his nose, and coughs. “What!?” He said, grabbing some napkins to dab his face. “I thought you had to be 18.”

“Active wartime they let it be 16… they prefer 17 year olds.” Cor remembered this song and dance that Isaac told him. _They want them older, but it’s no fair, we should be able to fight too, just cause we’re not seventeen. What’s three more years? Or uh…. Five for you I guess._

_It’s fine. We can trick them real easy, they say the dentists are the ones that can catch you, but if you fill out the form, you can enlist. Just write that you’re 17. We’re all going to do it._

Cor felt his stomach clench, and he shut his eyes. He didn’t want to think about that anymore.

“Wow…” Angelo huffed. “You got guts, kid. I can’t imagine applying at that age.”

“How old are you two?”

“Me? Just turned the big three zero.” Angelo huffed. “I’m ancient.”

Cor looked to Crystal.

She covered her face. “It’s not nice to ask a woman her age.” She remarked.

He shrugged. He guessed she was older than Angelo. “If you say so.” Cor replied.

She smiled in response, and it showed the wrinkles around her lips a bit prominently. Cor looked down and shoved another forkful of fries in his mouth, but it was getting cold, and the greasiness only got slimier when that happened, and he almost gagged, but he did his best to swallow.

Connie had gotten three different drinks, a mug of coffee, a plastic cup full of ice, and carton of strawberry milk. He had about a dozen coffee creamers, and a bunch of sugar cubes sitting on a napkin.

Connie poured the creamers in the coffee. “Five creamers and five sugar cubes, for the lady.” Connie remarked. He stirred until the sugar melted, and then added the ice, it melted fast, and he poured it in the plastic cup again, and poured strawberry milk on top of it, stuck a bendy straw in, and then leaned over Cor to offer Crystal the drink.

She smiled again, that same genuine smile that she had, and clasped the cup and took a sip. She has very small sips, Cor noticed, and he wondered if she didn’t have much of an appetite either.

“We can eat well enough if you put a little effort into fixing it up.” Connie explained.

They chatted. Honestly Cor couldn’t remember much of what they talked about. Useless things. Connie got way too interested in some type of sports game, Angelo talked about the Red Mage Guild, and Crystal, well, she said a few things, but it was so hard to hear her say anything. Some others joined at the table, all red mages – and a blue mage, who made it very clear to point that out, and Cor finally felt overwhelmed and excused himself.

He wanted to rest, he didn’t even realize he let the hours pass by, and evening had already come over Insomnia city. The golden orange sunlight reflects off of the barrier of the crystalline wall that covers Insomnia like a dome.

He didn’t want to talk, it was not that he disliked it, but he’d had enough. He couldn’t remember anyone’s names other than Connie, Angelo and Crystal, and he hardly remembered the small details other than all being mages.

He headed back to his room, he unpacked his pockets, and then stripped, showered, and put on his boxers and a large t-shirt. His shower was short. Military style. Three minutes. One minute of water, shower off, one minute of lathering soap, shower on, one minute of rinsing. The routines like that kept him from laying in bed all day, and he was grateful for that. Perhaps it was the only thing he felt grateful for with the Crownsguard. The control they had over his life was easy to follow. They told him what to do, and he could do it.

He lays his head on his duffle bag again, and shivers a little. It’s cold, but he’s had worse. He remembered the day it rained in Keycatrich trench, trying to sleep, and the stench and the cold and wet was miserable and awful, and the bodies the next morning were putrid, he puked, he remembered—

Cor sighed loudly, and then turned to his other side, staring at Connie’s belongings instead of the empty wall. He just couldn’t bring himself to sleep, as much as he wanted to. He forced himself to shut his eyes, and hoped he could last until early morning.

* * *

What wakes him next is not Connie – not originally at least, it’s a loud hard knock on their door. Cor stirs from sleep feeling heavier. He shifts around in the dark and realizes there’s a blanket on him. He looked down at it. In the pale light he could see it was reddish. It was Connie’s blanket, he saw it on Connie’s bed.

Connie jumped up when the knock came again.

“Health and Welfare Inspections?” Connie asked. “Again? We just did one last week!”

Connie patted Cor not realizing Cor was awake and hissed. “C’mon, get up.”

Cor sat up in bed, and Connie ran over to the door, flicking the lights on, and opening up. Cor leaned off the edge of his bed so he could see the front door from his bed. There was Commander Trellis standing there, and Connie saluted her.

“Ah. Constantine.” She gave him a sign to be at ease.

“Ma’am.”

“Cor Leonis, is he here?”

“Yes ma’am, he is.” Connie came over. “Cor.” He hissed.

Cor pulled himself out of bed, putting Connie’s blanket down on his duffle bag.

“Ma’am?” Cor asked.

“The King of Lucis has requested an audience with you.”

“Now?” Connie asked in utter confusion. “It’s two in the morning! Uh, ma’am…”

“Yes. Now.” Trellis told them both. “Cor Leonis, please get dressed and come with me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She steps back, holding the front door open, but turning her head to give Cor privacy. Connie’s thick eyebrows are up high, and he comes over to Cor. Cor noticed he had a pair of shorts on and no shirt, and he can see those scars on Connie’s chest more clearly, there’s a long surgical scar under both sides, as well as under his nipple.

“What did you do?” Connie hissed.

“I dunno.” Cor whispered, and started to slip his Crownsguard pants on. He buckled his belt, and slipped on his boots.

“Why does the King want you?” Connie asked.

“I dunno, Connie.” Cor hissed back, and threw off his shirt to put on his Crownsguard shirt. He took the Crownsguard jacket as well, and came forward.

“Bring your weapon with you.” Trellis told Cor.

Cor did not resist any remark, and moved to get his sword from under the bed, still wrapped in black sheet. He kept it like that, holding it in his arms.

“Now come with me.” She said stern. “He does not like to be kept waiting.”

Cor nodded, trying to stifle a yawn. He felt disoriented, almost as bad as the bomb drop, his head was fuzzy, his vision still blurry and his body sluggish, if his ears were ringing it would feel exactly the same. Still, he saw her move down the hallway, and he followed her, and got in the elevator – with a bit of maneuvering to get the sword in.

“Ma’am. May I ask a question?” Cor asked.

“Yes, you may.”

“What time is it?”

“0230.” She stated.

Cor sighed. “I see…”

“The King contacted me personally, and told me to go get you at once, no exceptions… I do not know why.”

Cor nodded, appreciating that she told at least that much, and knowing he best not ask any more questions. They exit the elevator, go through the closed lobby, and out the door in the cold air – Cor is glad he brought his jacket. He clutched his blade tight to him, and walked slowly towards the walk-in gate. They were let through, and then went to the King’s garden. Through the garden, to another elevator, and the place was empty and closed save for a janitor emptying trash cans, and a few dim lights still on.

Cor looks at the elevator buttons, like the one at the dorms, they are numbered, but a few aren’t. Trellis puts a key in a keyhole by those labelled buttons, and she hits a button that was labelled KQ – S.

Cor looked down at the glowing button while the door shut, and the elevator was pitch black and so shiny he could see himself in the door. He looked at the button again.

“What is that?” He asked.

Trellis pointed at the glowing button. “King’s Quarters – Study.”

Cor did not ask more past that. He watched, and the elevator took a hell of a lot longer to get up to the top floors of the Citadel, and Cor swore he felt his ears pop.

When they arrive, they step out, and Cor quickly pulls the Genji blade through the doors, holding it close. He looked around. There’s a few rooms, but this floor is strangely small considering the floor they were on before. Trellis takes a left, and heads to the door on the farthest left. There are two doors on the wall across from the elevator, and the other wall is a huge bay window with two seats and a coffee table.

Cor turns back towards Trellis, watching her knock on the door.

“Your Majesty, I’ve brought the Leonis boy.”

“Enter.” Comes a muffled voice.

Trellis opens the door. There’s a lot to take in.

There is the bust of an old King of Lucis carved out of marble, sitting on it’s own pillar. There is a large desk cleaned of paperwork, and books sitting on a planner calendar. There is a large armchair by a window, and there is a fireplace. The fire is not burning anything, it merely exists there. There is a large chase lounge. There is a bar – filled with different types of glasses, and an ice box and a large cabinet of expensive liquor and even a fridge of chilled wines Cor had never seen before. The floors are wooden, painted black. There is a large black rug near the fireplace, and on closer inspection Cor sees it’s an animal. A melanistic coeurl-skin rug. There is paintings on either walls, of ancient battles Cor had never heard of. There are bookshelves filled not only with books but trinkets, golden items and jewelry, a sylleblossom in a bell jar, several pictures of people. Over the mantle of the fireplaces is also photos of King Mors with other politicians.

King Mors sits on the armchair by the fireplace. He was undressed from his usual elegant attire, black slacks, and a white button up shirt with enough buttons undone that his chest hair was visible. The scar on his face looks more prominent, but perhaps it’s the shadow the light casts over his face from the fireplace. He looks tired, some dark circles under his eyes, not as regal as he did in the garden that morning. On the chair’s armrest sits a woman huddled close to him, and he whispers to her something. She is wearing a tight black dress, her breasts look ready to spill out, and her skirt stops high above her knees. Mors whispered something again.

“Darling, off you go.” He whispered, and the woman stood up, put on her high heels and left quietly. Mors turned in his chair, and graced Cor with a smile.

“There you are.” The King hummed.

“That will be all, Trellis, please.” He waved her away, and without a word she bowed and left. “Cor… come here.” Mors beckoned him forward.

“Sir.” He replied.

Mors beckoned Cor. “Let me get a look at you.”

Mors grabbed Cor’s chin, and tilted his head back. Mors looked him in the eye and Cor felt his stomach tighten with nerves. Mors let go of his face.

“That is quite a weapon. Did you fight in Keycatrich with this?”

“Yes sir—your majesty.”

“Really… did you kill someone with it?”

“A few people.” Cor admitted.

“What do you call it?”

“The blade?”

“Yes, the blade, what do you call it?”

Cor hadn’t really been asked that. He just called it a sword.

“Uh my mom—I uh…” He hesitated around that. “I guess we call it the Genji blade.”

“Ah… Hingan name.” Mors nodded. “Makes sense. It looks like it’s from Doma, after all.”

The pit of Cor’s stomach sinks deeper and deeper as Mors drudges up those words. Hingan. Doma. Even Genji makes him uncomfortable. The Lucians can hardly like each other, he doesn’t want to think of how they feel about Doman. Cor watched the King, looking the blade up and down.

“It looks like it will do nicely.” Mors said. “Give it to me.”

Cor looked to him, and hesitantly he unwrapped the sword and handed it over. Mors turned the blade in his hand.

“Beautiful.” He whispered. “The horimono goes along the entire blade.”

Cor didn’t know what a horimono was, but Mors ran his hand along the dotted pattern and fish-scale like engraving, so he assumed it was that.

“Do you know who the Genji were?”

Cor stands there for a long while, nervous to answer, should he be honest? He swallowed. “It’s a Doman name.”

“More than a name.” Mors remarked. “They are the protectors of the Doman royal family.” He ran his hand over the red binding Cor had tied around the sword handguard. “They were, and had been, what the Amicitia are to the Lucis Caelum’s.” Mors remarked. “That is, until they betrayed them, took over the royal family, and became the new royalty.” He looked up at Cor.

“A royal Prince of Doma.”

Cor pressed his lips tight, but made no response.

“I’m joking.” Mors remarked. “Doma is no more, as is the Genji family, slaughtered in that take over, about three hundred years ago. Lucis had a presence there once, but that place is no more, and the people are scattered around… many of them came here to Lucis, or all the way to Cartanica. The Genji blades were gifts to their shields, each horimono signified a name of a certain person, and their family.” Mors went on. “In the days that passed, assassins took it upon themselves to kill the remaining Genji family, and steal everything they owned – swords included. And the reputation of the blade fell to ruin. Now… this blade is considered the blade of a thief – not a Prince.”

Cor swallowed thick. He felt sick, in his stomach, thinking about the sword, thinking about the day he ran away. It was not his sword either. It was never given to him. It was only given when they were ready, but they showed Cor where they kept it, and how to care for it – and he stole it.

“I am man of royal blood, living a well off life.” Mors remarked. “I understand sometimes I cannot fully relate to others, especially soldiers, but I am not a fool. I never intended to be one.” He looked up to Cor, who still stood, rigid and at attention. “I know far more than you have probably ever dreamt up.”

He stood up, and pointed the sword at Cor’s throat. Cor raised his gaze to Mors’s eyes, but did not step back.

Mors stepped forward, putting the sword on Cor’s shoulder and sliding the blade across until they were both standing face to face – Mors was a bit taller, looking down at Cor. “The Doman people… lived on a continent created by Bahamut, according to mythos.” He said. He took the sword of Cor’s shoulder and pointed it down to the ground. “Bahamut swirled the tide of Leviathan’s first ocean with a sword, and when he raised his sword, the drops of ocean water that fell from the blade formed their country. Some of the drops never parted from his blade, and did not hit the ocean – that is why they have floating islands, like Tenebrae.”

Cor blinked. This was something he heard before, from someone else, although with much more detail and majesty about the event.

Mors continued. “Bahamut gifted the crystal to me, a Lucis Caelum, and gifted ‘healing’ of the Starscourge to the Nox Fleuret. This is what the Cosmogyny tells you. Our ability to use magic stems from the crystal, and by extension – me.” He put his hand on his chest, and Cor saw that black ring on left ring finger.

“The Ring of the Lucii.” Mors was circling around Cor with the blade down, almost touching the floor, but never doing so. “A precious commodity, and my personal burden.”

“The Doman people don’t abide by that rule as much, let’s put it that way.” Mors said. “They take their power from what they called a ‘soul’. In essence, they relied on body and mind more than the divine power of the gods. Because of that… they lost all connection to the crystal. This is true also of the Fabulan people, at least those tied to the old ways and training martial arts and ‘souls’ and what not – eventually the Royal family of Fabul stumbled into the Wind Crystal, and venerated Garuda, and people close to that bloodline adapt easily to mage work—”

“Mors.” Cor said suddenly, and Mors was so rarely familiar with being called that, that he stopped and turned his head to Cor.

“You said I could call you Mors.” Cor said, trying to stay firm, despite the fear he felt when Mors looked at him like that.

“Indeed, I did.” Mors replied. “I am just not used to it.”

“I mean you no offense.” Cor started. “But I need to be at line-up by 6:30. May I ask you to—”

“Have a point?” Mors interjected his own question. “Yes, I have a point.”

Mors pointed the sword at Cor again. “You’re a Doman.”

Cor’s heart shot up into his throat. It felt like it had been waiting to do it, he just needed to hear that accusation – all over again. He couldn’t even run from it.

“Try as you might… but you can’t hide these things from me. Not full Doman, obviously, look at you, the way you look, you could pass for a Lucian, couldn’t you? But I know you aren’t. I feel it in you, and I feel it in this blade, because it is an extension of you. Your ‘soul’. Is here in the blade, your ‘soul’ and someone else’s ‘soul’ but I don’t know who, perhaps it’s whoever owned it before you?” He continuously emphasizes the word _soul_.

Then suddenly he turned and said. “I cannot give you the power of a mage.”

“Excuse me?”

“I cannot give you the power of a mage. I can only bestow on you a few things.” Mors admitted. “Certain peoples have certain reactions to my Magic. The King’s Magic. Some vomit, especially Galahdian, but they are able to use it when they overcome nausea. Some black out, or experience memory loss. Some become physically exhausted, developing into asthenia. As I mentioned, the Fabulan can sometimes have bad reactions, but for the most part they’re familiar with crystal based magic.” He sighed. “Then there are the Domans.”

“They die.” Mors said flatly. “The crystal is a physical thing and as it is supposed to manifest outside of one’s body –” Mors waved his hand over the air, and crystals like the light he saw in the garden were visible. It was the same as the ones he saw from the boy in the Ulwaat bush, but it was green, like emeralds, not blue.

“For a Doman, their physical bodies and their ‘soul’ are too… internal.” Mors gestured into his body. “The otherworldly powers that be are often used as an extension of the body, instead of an accessory. They cannot separate them.” He looked Cor in the face. “Over time, the Doman’s that train under us…” He clicked his tongue. “Their blood crystallizes the more they use Lucian magic. It destroys their body, and they die.” Mors explained. “Even worse… some come back.”

Cor didn’t know what to say, the presence of Mors was mortifying in itself, and he was speechless to the revelation he’d given him. He merely adjusted his posture, and kept quiet.

“Do you know what a Yojimbo is, Cor?”

“No, sir.”

“I pray you don’t. They are a perfect example of what Doman with too much crystalized blood can turn into.” Mors sighed. “But you want me to end the talking. You are tired. Right?”

A flash of green, and the sword vanished. Cor tensed up, just a moment, eyes wide, but he relaxed, trying to stay calm around the King. He watched the flash of green come, and the sword was back in Mors’s hand.

“Ah. Lovely. Sometimes the wrappings don’t stay intact like that.” Mors huffed, and ran his hand across the red binding around the handle. “Despite my little scare tactic, I will grant you two things, so long as you use them carefully.” Mors explained. “The first is the weapon hold. It shouldn’t hurt you, nor should your blood crystallize, because it’s _my_ hold you put it in. I should feel the effects. I will know when you draw your weapon, and I will know when you put it away. I will feel it. For that, you are safe. I can promise you this.”

Mors handed the sword back to Cor.

“Put it away. Let me see.”

“… I don’t know how sir.”

“It’s fine.” Mors assured him. “Try just dropping it.”

Cor let go of it. It hit the ground, and was still in his hands, not even falling over.

“Hmm… maybe it’s too long for that. Drop it horizontally.”

Cor turned the blade horizontally, it was almost hit the wall of the study.

Cor dropped it, and after it fell about two feet it turned into green shards and vanished.

“Good.” Mors told him. “See how the crystal is surrounding the sword? That’s a good thing. Those won’t end up inside you. Now call it back.”

“I… I don’t know how.”

Mors sighed. “I am rarely this hands on, so count yourself lucky.” He was still smiling despite it, he always seemed to look amused. “Although perhaps I’m just enjoying my free time. I so rarely am allowed this much… quiet.” He came forward, and Cor felt Mors’s chest against his back. Mors had long arms and elegantly long fingers, where the Ring of the Lucii brushes against Cor’s hand and he feels something, the way an echo feels, a reverberation, something goes through him and he shudders. Cor was surprised to feel how thin Mors was, it was like he had no muscle at all. Yet he somehow carried it all well, one would never tell. Mors clutched the back of Cor’s hands.

“Be lucky, I almost never do this, but I will show it to you once—use it to your advantage.”

Mors had Cor’s hands by the back. He made Cor curl his hands, and then open them, and Mors whispered. “Your sword is inside of a great endless void, now imagine it floating in the air, the same way you dropped it.” Mors held Cor’s arms out, and one hand he took off to gesture forward. “Do you see that?”

Cor noticed some strange distortion in the air. It was like heat coming off of asphalt, warping the area, but it was thin like a sheet of paper.

“It’s hard to see because it’s so slight.” Mors said so, if he didn’t point it out, Cor would hardly notice. “And it fades.” After a moment, it turned, and distorted, and seemed to be gone.

“It’s still there.” Mors remarked. “It’s just beyond that. So go and take it back.”

Cor let go of his right hand, and Cor reached out, touching the place the distortion was at, and feeling something heavy and familiar. His hand curls around the sword, and it feels colder than it did just a few seconds ago. Without any real notice, the whole thing is in his hand.

“One more time.”

Cor dropped the sword horizontally, and then reached up, and felt the strange tingle in his hand, going up his arm. It was like sticking his hand in a cobweb, feeling everything cling to you, every uncomfortable strand pulling and sticking.

It’s gone, and there’s heaviness in his hand. Cor realized that tear was right in front of his hand at any time, and he could reach from anywhere. He dropped it again and reached above his head and felt the sword again.

“Good. You understand.”

“What if it doesn’t come back?” Cor asked, furrowing his brow.

“Good question.” Mors remarked. “It either means you really pissed me off, and I went out of my way to make you suffer… or it means I died.”

Mors said this into his ear, and then stepped back, and around Cor. “Now put it away. It will never be a burden and always be with you.”

“Can other things go in there?”

“Yes, but I’ll know if it’s there.” Mors remarked. “So don’t use it to hide things. Or I’ll confiscate it.” Perhaps to prove his point, Mors suddenly summoned the Genji blade, and Cor stiffened. Mors let it disappear, and just to make sure, Cor tried to summon it again, and had it in his hands.

 “Thank you, Mors.” Cor remembered him asking not to call him by any title.

“That won’t be all.” Mors told him. “But that’s what is important for now. I will grant you another gift... The next time we meet.” He stretched, and pulled a blanket off the chase lounge and wrapped it about his shoulders. “I have a sleepless night to look forward to.”

Cor didn’t ask what that meant, but he could assume easily enough.

“Go.” Mors told him. “Back to your barracks.”

“Yes sir.” Cor replied.

Mors turned, he put his hand to his mouth, and then pulled the hand away, gesturing to Cor, he recognized Mors doing that before, to the tourists, like he was blowing a kiss. Cor furrowed his brow.

“じゃ、また.” Mors whispered, and smiled. Cor felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut. He dropped the Genji blade on the ground, and let it disappear into the void, he nervously thought about calling it back, but Mors’s words were stuck in his mind, and he turned to the door and left before he could think any more about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for those of you who read and comment, this chapter was a bit longer than I thought it would be, but I enjoyed it.


	4. Training Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor definitely doesn't make some friends today.

“What happened?” Connie’s voice piped up when Cor opened the door to the dorm. It was a bit past three in the morning. Cor walked in, the lights were off – it was obviously lights out time, so Connie didn’t keep them on, but Cor saw a faint glow and Connie was holding a holyga flask up like a lantern.

“Nothing.” Cor replied.

“I thought you were in trouble!” Connie looked worried, and it aged his face a bit, he looked more like an adult, less like the excitable young boy Cor kept thinking he was.

“No. I wasn’t.”

“Well what happened? Did you really meet King Mors?”

Cor nodded, realizing it was too dark to see that, he said. “Yeah.”

“At this hour… well if it wasn’t trouble, what was it?”

Cor summoned the Genji blade in that greenish light, and then dropped it again.

“What!?”

“Shh.” Cor hushed Connie.

Connie’s voice fell to a loud whisper. “You got his blessing already? It took me six months to even meet him! And I tested pretty high in mage craft!”

“He said… I couldn’t be a mage.” Cor admitted. He decided not to go into detail why. It certainly bothered him.

“What? Really?” Connie sat down on his bed, and put the holyga flask back in the fridge. He sighed. “Well, that’s okay. Not everyone is cut out for it… still… I can’t believe you already saw him. Why did he call you at this hour?”

Cor blinked. “I guess he had free time.” He really didn’t know the answer to that.

“Maybe he just likes you.” Connie joked. “Well, I guess you’re going to have to do weapon training later.”

Cor nodded. Instead of letting the sword go by dropping it, Cor looked for the distortion, and quietly he pushed the blade forward, and felt it almost evaporate out his hand.

“Looks like you already figured it out.” Connie remarked.

“Constantine.” Cor spoke just.

“Just Connie is fine.” Connie corrected him. “What is it?”

“Could you wake me for line up in the morning?”

“Sure. You had a busy day. Hope you’re not too sleepy tomorrow.”

Cor hoped the same. He sat down on his bed, and took the blanket up. He knew it was Connie’s. So he looked over to him. “You didn’t have to give me this.” Cor remarked.

“Yeah, but it’s cold, and it’s getting colder.” Connie remarked. “Maybe Leide wasn’t too bad because it was dry, but it’ll be miserable enough soon. Snow and everything.”

Cor was no stranger to snow.

“When does all your stuff come in?”

“What?”

“Your stuff.” Connie gestured to his side of the room. “Where’s your luggage?”

“This is my luggage.” Cor held his duffle bag to his side.

“That – that’s all you have?”

“Yeah.”

“Not even a poster?”

Cor shook his head.

“Picture of home?”

“I don’t have a home.”

“What?” Connie shifted around, probably growing cold, because he pulled his sheets over himself. For a while he looked frustrated at Cor’s remark, but he didn’t want to push Cor to answer what he meant. “Well… you must have friends don’t you?”

“I did.”

“Where are they?”

“They died.”

There’s a pregnant pause when Connie’s eyes widen, and in the moonlight they glow a bit. “I… oh. I didn’t know. How are you doing right now?”

Cor blinked. “What?”

“How are you doing right now? Are you okay?”

Cor blinked again, as if that would help him hear better.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. Nobody had asked him that before.

Connie nodded. “I guess I didn’t think about it… a lot of people died in Keycatrich…”

Cor stayed silent.

“Don’t worry, okay? You’re safe here, and you can get some rest, I’ll wake you.”

Cor nodded, and shifted his duffle bag to the side the clothes were on, and laid his head down.

“You don’t have a pillow?” Connie asked.

“Not yet.” Cor admitted. “End of the week is payday.”

“Oh, good.” Connie smiled, and seemed content with that, then he turned, and laid down, and pulled his blanket over himself.

“Good night.”

Cor blinked, he didn’t really want to respond, so he just went. “Uh-huh.”

* * *

 

The next day is miserable and cold, at 6:30 the sun is not even up yet, just a dark blueish dawn, late to the horizon. Cor is groggy as he gets his jacket and hat on, and rubbing sleep from his eyes as he brushes his teeth. He pulls his shoes on, and finds Connie fully dressed and waiting for him.

“You don’t have to wait.” Cor yawned.

“I know.” Connie replied.

The day will get warmer, but it’s only autumn, and the winter will come soon. After line up, Cor is told to go training, and Connie has to assist with the vehicle layout and checking, so they part ways.

It’s a bit of a relief, Cor isn’t sure he dislikes the man, but he was so used to being on his own that he’d rather have some time away.

Training is with other new recruits, all full blooded city Lucians, and the rundown is incredibly boring, speaking to them like they were children, unable to process the idea of summoning a weapon and bringing it back. After the lengthy and boring explanation was over, Cor shakes himself a bit, almost falling asleep, and then they’re given the time to train. Cor feels better about that.

He walks to the training room, surprised the floors are so thickly padded. In Formouth the pad was a thin blue mat, but in here it felt almost bouncy, and Cor thought it was a bit pointless – it was hard to have very decent footing on that floor, and it was too soft to really convey how much it hurt to get knocked on your ass.

They suit Cor in protective gear, chinguard, head straps, arm covers, torso covers. They’re more like thick leather, and they hardly feel used. He realizes that they are beginners, and he turns to the officer and explains.

“I’m a Corporal, sir.”

“What of it?”

“I think I may be too advanced for this training.”

“You have no experience with your weapon hold, high rank or not, you need to practice.”

“Yes sir.” Cor replied.

They taught them to put away an extremely dull wooden blade. Sometimes the wood splintered or broke in the hold, but they did not want to risk having them hit each other with metal.

Cor let the wooden blade disappear. It seemed everyone else had a faint green tinge to the magic that was involved. Cor watched the Lucian boy step across the mat to approach him. He was thin but muscular, had a gleam in his eyes, short black hair and hazel eyes.

“I’ll go easy on you, kid.” He tells Cor.

Cor nods his head once.

They both stand on other sides of the mat, weapons away, and are given instructions.

“Summon!” The instructor calls out.

Cor summons the wooden sword, looking it over to make sure there are no cracks or splinters. The Lucian man summons it just as fast.

“Start on the whistle.” The instructor says, and blows.

Cor stands completely still, and the man lunges forward, swinging down at Cor’s shoulder. Cor reared back, holding the sword above his head like he did with the Genji blade. He reminded himself to compensate for the reach he didn’t have. He sighs, and drops the weapon, lets it disappear, and falls to the ground. The man swings down, but not far enough, Cor is on his back, and rolls on his side, putting his foot down and getting back up. He summons the sword back, and without thinking much, slams the thing into the other soldier’s head.

There is a resounding crack—the man stumbled to the ground, and Cor looked down, blinking, and there was a hush that started falling before the whistle blew again.

“Leonis!” The instructor practically screamed. “No attacks above the neck!”

 _But why._ Cor swallowed thick, but kept his thoughts to himself. _You have to hit them where it’ll kill them._

“Yes sir.”

“Mortis, get up.”

The man Cor hit struggled, but he couldn’t find his balance, and stumbled on his knees. He touched his hair, and his hand came away red. Cor looked down, the wooden sword had a smear of blood on it.

“Fuck.” The instructor hissed. “Stay put.” He roughly grabbed the man and held him still. “Get a nurse!”

Cor watched the man, clutching his head until a nurse came, and then another, and walked him away. Unsurprisingly, the hospital wing was connected to the training room building, and there was another one in the mage training building.

The instructor looked Cor up and down. After a moment, he fixated on a pin on Cor’s shirt. Cor stood rigid.

“Lion’s badge.” He said. “Keycatrich?”

“Yessir.” Cor replied.

The instructor stares, and the other newer recruits get silent.

“Sit down.” He gestured to the benches off to the side. Cor obeyed the command, and started taking off his armor. He gets two other recruits to fight, and Cor watches them stupidly hit each other in the shoulders and the chest, trying to bludgeon each other into giving up. One ‘wins’ although Cor hardly thinks of it as a win. By the time it’s over Cor turns his attention to the instructor who is now by the doorway, a phone to his ear, his hand on the wall where the black phonebox was mounted on.

Cor looked down at the bloodied sword, and the people cleaning blood off the mat, while the next pair of trainees used a different mat. The instructor hung up the phone with a loud click, putting it back on the box. He went over to the two fighting to yell at them what they’d done wrong.

He sighed, pulling the armor off and folding it neatly before setting it down. Whether he was in trouble or not, he couldn’t really tell. About half an hour later, Commander Trellis arrived, and Cor figured if the C.O. needed to be involved he was probably in trouble.

“He’s over there.” Points the instructor. The whole room pauses to salute her and she sighed and walked over to Cor.

“I’ve been informed you need to be taken to intermediate or higher level training.”

Cor didn’t say anything.

“I’ve also been informed you harmed another soldier.”

“Yes ma’am, I did.”

“Why?”

“That’s the point of fighting.”

“Of fighting. Not training.” She said. “Get up. Put the sword down. This isn’t a battlefield, this is Insomnia City, we do things differently around here.”

Cor stood up, setting the bloodied wooden sword down.

She walked Cor over towards the place he went to the other day. He wondered if her specific soldier's practice room was where he was going, or she was going to sit him down and lecture him in her office. Instead he found himself sitting on another bench in an empty training room. He glanced to Trellis, and saw her calling into another room.

The younger man from the other day, Clarus, showed up, tucking his long hair behind his ear. “What is it?” He didn’t speak with very much respect.

“I need you to get some idea of how well this boy can do combat.” She gestured towards Cor. “Then we can properly put him in the right training class.”

“Oh.” Clarus looked, and then furrowed his brow. “That guy again.”

Trellis nodded. “Get your gear.”

Cor watched him go into a closet, dressing with the same armor he had on before – a few sizes bigger. Clarus tied his hair back in a small ponytail, and then removed a giant wooden greatsword. Cor watched, looking, and saw he extracted two of them.

“Can you carry one of these?” Clarus asked.

“I should be able to.” Cor replied.

“Well then get over here.”

Cor stood up, and walked over to the closet as well, pulling the leather elbow and arm covers, the giant thick piece that was to be wrapped on the front and back of his torso, knee and shin guards, and the head strap. He tied them on, and picked up the wooden greatsword. It was thicker than the Genji blade, but not longer or heavier than it.

Cor lifted it, and put it on his shoulder, the same way he usually raised the Genji blade.

Clarus looked at Cor, walking over to the training mat, and he focused on Cor, before looking at his chest, to the decorations on his uniform.

“Lion’s badge?” Clarus asked. “Since when has there been active combat?”

“Keycatrich.” Cor stated flatly.

“Oh. Right.”

After that Clarus skirted around the issue and changed the topic – as did most people.

“You must know how to fight pretty good then.”

 _Because I lived?_ Cor sighed, and walked over towards the mat with the overly heavy wooden sword.

“Start when I say start, okay?”

Cor nodded one time.

“Start—” Clarus was swinging when he said it, and Cor stepped back and to the side. He watched, Clarus lifted the sword a lot quicker than he thought he could. Clarus was definitely a lot stronger than the last boy. Cor exhaled, lunging to slam the dull blade in Clarus’s side. Clarus did let out a grunt, in pain or frustration, and Cor stepped to the side.

Clarus was faster than Cor thought, he saw the sword swing down, and he had no time, either taking the sword in the head, or in the arm – he shifted for arm, and it slammed into his shoulder.

Cor let out a gasp – it was like being hit with a baseball bat. Dull and heavy and hard, that was definitely not his best idea, but he saved his head for sure. Clarus backed up, almost worried of what he’d done.

“Shit. Why didn’t you dodge?”

Cor grit his teeth. He curled his head down a bit, like he was reeling, and waited for Clarus to come closer. Cor shoved the wooden greatsword in his weapon hold, and gasped.

“Just breathe—shit.” Clarus huffed.

Cor lifted his good hand, He was in a curled up, almost fetal position, down on his knees. He felt Clarus lean over him, and in a flash of green, Cor had the wooden sword in his raised hand, and used the momentum to slam it down on Clarus’s shoulder as well. He almost aimed too close to the neck.

“Fuck!” Clarus stumbled, and for a moment they both were shocked as the greatsword snapped on Clarus, making him panic, thinking Cor had broken his bone, and he flopped over, clutching his arm.

Cor looked down, the sword was covered in cracks. They had mentioned it splintering and breaking in the weapon hold, so Cor looked on with less fear that he’d hit Clarus too hard, more fear that he’d slammed splinters into his shoulder.

The loud deafening ‘crack’ from the wood was certainly a noise to turn some heads.

“What the hell –” Clarus wheezed. Cor looked down, it seemed there was some fragments of wood, but no splinters. Cor stepped back.

“I broke this.” Cor told Clarus flatly.

“No fucking shit.” Clarus cussed. “What the fuck, man…” He rubbed his shoulder, and Cor stepped away, holding his own sore shoulder for a moment. He held the broken wooden handle in his palm, looking down at Clarus.

He put the broken sword on Clarus’s head.

“What is the purpose of this?” Cor asked.

“Not for you to break my fucking shoulder, first of all!” Clarus snapped back.

“If this was a fight, you’d be dead.” Cor snapped. He dropped the sword on the ground, and turned away. “If nobody takes this seriously, what’s the point?”

Cor stumbled over to the bench, and sat there, rubbing his shoulder.

“You want me to take this seriously?” Clarus snapped once he got himself together. “I’ll take it _seriously_.”

Cor looked up, and Clarus was running off the mat, sword raised, either in anger or a need for revenge, probably both. Cor grit his teeth.

The Genji blade has far too much range, Clarus can’t even come close with that giant block of wood before Cor has slammed his blade into the wood so hard it slams down onto the floor, and then splits into two.

“You want a _real_ weapon? You want a _real_ fight!?” Clarus hissed. He summoned a large metal shield, and Cor exhaled. This felt more familiar. Cussing, swearing, clashing swords and dull throbbing pain.

Cor slammed the Genji blade into Clarus’s shield so hard it reverberated, shaking him a bit, stumbling him, and Cor slices at his arm, along his hand and up his forearm, some place it hurts, some place to make it ache, he’s tired of this, this bratty soldier attitude, and he’s tired of this stupid fight. He slices again, going up, along his arm, and hits at his shoulder.

Blood hits the mat again, Cor gets a good slash in Clarus’s arm, but right after Clarus slams that shield into Cor’s face, and he stumbles away, blood shot out of his nostrils, a scrape on his forehead – there was spikes on the shield. Cor realized the spikes were there only when it bludgeoned him. Cor groaned, and clutched the sword tightly.

“Clarus!”

A voice called out. It was not an instructor, or Commander Trellis, or even a nurse.

There was a pale boy standing by the door, wavy brown hair, hazel eyes, wearing a white shirt and purple vest. It’s the boy from the Ulwaat bush in the King’s Garden. Cor remembered him. Another flash, and the boy is suddenly next to them, and Cor jumps away out of shock. The boy knelt down, worry etched into his face.

“What have you done to him!?” The boy had gentle features, but immediately he’s flared up in rage. His thin eyebrows knit, his face turning red. Clarus is bleeding all over his shirt, and on the mat.

Cor didn’t even dignify him with a response, and stumbled away, head throbbing and he stumbled near the edge of the mat, keeping his distance.

“I’ve got you…” the boy tells Clarus, and reaches around to pick the man up, but he’s far bigger than the boy. “Come on.” He summoned a vial, the same greenish ones in Connie’s refrigerator. He cracks it over Clarus’s wound. “Let’s go to the nurse.” He begged. He helps Clarus get up, and starts helping the man stumble over to the double doors, the last thing he does is shoot a glare at Cor.

“Leonis.” Trellis barked.

Cor turned, and tried to stand up, although he felt like he’d fall over. He saluted.

“What on eos are you doing?” She snapped. “You think you have any right to hurt my soldiers?”

“This isn’t training me for anything.” Cor spoke up. “I—”

“You will do your training and understand the weapon hold!” Trellis snapped. “You will not cause any more injuries. You are going to stop spilling anymore blood or so help me I’ll discharge you.”

Cor’s scowl faltered. His boiling frustration diminished at the thought of being discharged.

“Behave yourself.” Trellis snapped.

“Yes ma’am.” He responded, voice strained with irritation.

She looked him over. “Go to the nurse. Do not go near Clarus. When the nurse lets you go, you return to me.”

Cor nodded. He let the Genji blade go, and slowly stumbled to stand upright. He put his hand on the stone wall while he walked out the training room, and over to the hall. He limped a little, the damage to his head was definitely not good. He felt blood forming on his upper eyelid and tried not to think about it much.

The nurse didn’t particularly seem to care about seeing Cor, he was a new face, but another bloodied one.

“Sit down.” The nurse said, and he gestured to a bed covered with a large sheet of paper, and the pillow wrapped in paper as well. Cor sat down, feeling it crinkle around him, and sighed, he laid down.

“Don’t lay down.” The nurse snapped. “Not until I know you don’t have a concussion.”

Cor sat up, and put his hand on his head. The nurse washed his hands, and slipped his gloves on, grabbing some cart full of miscellaneous medical supplies and rolled it over.

“What happened.”

“A soldier hit me in the face with a shield full of spikes.” Cor hissed.

“And you cut him with a sword?” The nurse returned.

“Yes.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t hit his neck, you could’ve killed him.”

Cor didn’t say anything.

“Look at me.” The nurse said, and Cor turned his head to the man. He poured some gross orange liquid in a steel pan, the scent was sour, and shoved a cotton ball in it. He dabbed it on Cor’s wound and it immediately flared up. Cor flinched, but he didn’t say anything, just gritting his teeth and holding himself upright.

The blood cleans away, and the nurse dabs cleanly to see the fresh pinkish white flesh. It pumps blood out fast as he wipes away.

The cotton ball comes back red. “It’s superficial.” He huffed. “Doesn’t look like any skull injuries. It’ll scab up and heal fine.” He remarked. “Do you feel dizzy, light headed, can you remember who you are?”

“I don’t have a concussion. I didn’t get one when the bomb dropped on Keycatrich, I didn’t get one from someone hitting me in the face.” Cor tried to not get frustrated, but he was annoyed enough.

“Relax kid.” The nurse hissed. “Just let me bandage this.”

Cor sat still, and he cleaned again, he wiped under Cor’s nose, and Cor could smell that foul scented antiseptic. He gave Cor some stick shaped cotton to plug his bleeding nostrils, and slapped some gauze on the scrape, and taped it over. He gave Cor a handful of gauze to replace the bandage later.

“Hurt anywhere else?”

“No.” Cor stood up, tucking the gauze in his pocket.

“I have to check for a concussion.” The nurse repeated.

“I’ll be fine.” Cor turned, and left the nurse room, and the nurse was certainly not willing to go chase after some ungrateful soldier who wasn't even bothered to appreciate the service, so he just peeling his gloves off and started stripping the paper off the bed.

Trellis was standing there in the training room, waiting for Cor to return, and whether she expected him to be fast or not didn’t matter.

“Go to the closet, get a mop, and clean the whole mat.”

There was only a couple spatters of blood. Cor didn’t argue.

“You have to adapt to this place, soldier.” Trellis told him. “You’re not at war. You’re in the Citadel, you will give respect and you will obey our orders. Next time you will follow our training. Do not argue with us.”

“Yes ma’am.” Cor walked to the broom closet, a small drain on the floor with a hose, a rolling mop bucket and a dingy mop sit in the corner. He shoves the hose in the bucket, waiting for it to fill. He grabs some half used bottle of pine scented cleaner, and dumps a good amount in. It suds up quickly.

He works on the blood first, and Trellis stands there, watching him work.

“You are in need of guidance.” She tells him.

Cor continues to mop, but he nods his head at her to indicate he’s listening.

“In the battlefield, you thought for yourself, you listened to orders but you didn’t have to. Here is different. We are trying to maintain peace here, and I will not have you disrupt it.”

“Understood.” Cor said, and washed the blood. He looked down, he put the mop in, washing the red off, until the water was pinkish. The rest of the mat had some scuffs and mud, so Cor continued.

“If you want to fight so badly, you should have stayed in the frontlines.”

Cor hit the mop on the ground in front of his feet, and looked up, shoulders squared, staring. “I was going to.” He said.

“What?” She clearly was not in a good mood, and Cor’s tone made her even worse.

“I was going to stay.” Cor said. “I was transferred here, because of the King’s request.” He wanted to say _, I don’t know why I’m here_ , but he knew. He knew the truth. He was a kid. The King was coddling him. He was getting tired of it.

“I should’ve been fighting.” Cor continued mopping.

“You should be grateful the King took you in.”

 _They killed my friends in front of me, and I can’t even fight back. Why should I be grateful?_ Cor stiffened his shoulders. He continued mopping, shoving the mop in the rolling bucket and washing it off again.

“You have a thing or two about learning respect around here.” Trellis hissed. “I will be sending you your orders for tomorrow. No more training with other soldiers, you’re a liability.”

Cor started to scrub the mop over an ancient dried patch of mud on the mat. “Yes ma’am.” He held in his breath, exhaling out his nose, trying not to sigh in the presence of his commanding officer.

He is already trained, not to talk back, not to fight back, not to criticize or be rude. The recruiter in Camp Vaullerey knew Cor was a kid, that all the Old Lestallum recruits were mostly kids, he knew that they were not ready for war. When they ran their mile, Cor had to carry extra weights, when they did push-ups, Cor and his friends had to do twice as many. The hatred and frustration he had to that sergeant couldn’t be overstated, but now that he was here, mopping a floor, he knew why.

That man wanted them to survive. He was building their muscles, he was pushing them harder, to get them used to it, more than the adults. So they would live, or better, they would give up, and some of them did. And many didn’t.

Cor clenched the mop handle tightly. He squeezed so hard his knuckles turned white, and he couldn’t think very much, so he just focused on mopping.

* * *

 

There is much more cleaning Trellis makes him do, the floor around the training mats, the windows, the closets needed to be organized, it was punishment, thankfully nobody but Trellis had to watch him do it, but it felt like an insult regardless. He was prime to fight, and now he was a janitor. She lets him go at lunch, perhaps because she wants her own lunch break, and Cor has done enough cleaning, Cor’s hands stink of pine-scented cleaner and dust, and he feels sick in his stomach.

He stands by the edge of one of the mess hall doors, and sees Connie sitting with some other mages, and Cor steps back, and walks away. He could go to a commissary later, he didn’t want to be around someone just yet.

He walked back to the barracks, and went to the mail slots. He was waiting for last month’s payment, and thankfully there was a letter. He sat on a couch, and ripped it open.

_To: Cor Leonis_

_The recent signing of all payment addressed to Keycatrich veterans had been dispensed to Camp Formouth. The bank account you have does not operate in Insomnia City. The checks were delivered to Camp Formouth failed to reach your transfer address.  Due to this issue, we are unable to issue funds until a later date. Please accept our apologies for this oversight. We are truly sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused you._

_Sincerely,  
Municipal Bank of Leide_

Cor practically crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it away, but he resisted the urge. He groaned a bit. The letter didn’t even have a date, just ‘a later date’ as his information. He was low on gil, and he gave up entirely on eating that day.

He didn’t have anything else to do that day, Commander Trellis didn’t tell him to do anything, so he walked over to the mud room, a large cement room on the first floor with hoses and drains and he washed his boots of any mud and dirt and scraped it over the brush-like carpet to clean and dry it off. He held his boots, and got into the elevator and went upstairs.

He set the boots by the door, walking in and pulling off his socks and undoing his belt. He set his hat down on the table. He stripped, dropping his clothes on the floor, and did a military shower. Three minutes. It’s at least a good three minutes, he doesn’t have to think about anything but washing and scrubbing and cleaning and rinsing. He was ginger, around his head, removing that cotton in his nose and the gauze and tape on his forehead. It scabbed up a bit, or the blood dried there, so he washed it up a bit, smelling blood, watching the water drip reddish brown. His shoulder had a thick purple bruise He could smell mostly blood when he sniffed, and he just tried not to rub his nose, the inside felt full of dried blood.

He dried himself off, taking a long time in the small shower and toilet room just getting every inch of skin dry. It was cold, and he didn’t care much for the chill he got being damp from the shower. He put on briefs and longer pants and a shirt to sleep, and calmly put gauze on his forehead and taped it there. He laid himself down on his sheets. Connie’s blanket was folded up on his bed, but Cor didn’t bother taking it, he didn’t like borrowing things, he didn’t like owing people things.

He came here to fight, he came here to prove himself as a Lucian, he came here to live his own life.

Now, he was doing none of that. The King saw right through him, spoke to him in Doman, and Cor felt his face burn in shame. He would never be a Lucian. He was pulled out of combat, another shame, and he tried to be independent, but he couldn’t even furnish his own barracks dorm.

He wasn’t hungry, but his stomach twisted up while he laid there, he had really thrown off his body when he got back from the battle, gorging on food because supplies were so low, they were all starving out there. If the trench taught him anything, it was to conserve his energy, otherwise his stomach would start eating itself and burn right through him, and he’d really be in trouble.

He sighed, and put the bank letter on the table by his hat.

He rubbed the gauze on his head a bit. He tried to lay on his side but his shoulder hurt so much he had to turn the other way.

He’s slept in worse conditions, and considering the day, he’d like to call it quits and just head to sleep, so he does.

As the hours pass, it gets colder as the sun sets, and Cor pulls his knees up a bit, resting his head on his duffle bag.

With the sun on the horizon, the door to the dorm clicks, and Connie opens the door humming to himself. He walked in, jumping again when he sees Cor, he’s just so inconspicuous.

“You got to stop scaring me.” Connie says, but Cor doesn’t answer. Connie carefully walked up, looking him over. He was surprised to see Cor had a bandage on his head.

“Oh—what happened to you?” He asked aloud. Cor was asleep, and he didn’t say anything. Connie very, very carefully put his hand on Cor’s forehead.

“…” His eyes are shut to concentrate, Connie felt the wound through the bandage. “Poison.” He whispered. A dull and painful type, nothing but to make the person who was hurt feel even more sore. Connie was very careful as he put both his hands around Cor’s head, and whispered. “Esuna.”

When the effect settles, or he feels like the gross sticky feeling of poison is not in Cor anymore, he whispers. “Cura.” He watches Cor, and his face falls a little bit, his knitted brow now relaxing a bit.

Satisfied with that, Connie turned away, and stopped, noticing the letter by Cor’s hat. He glanced at Cor. Then the letter. Would it be rude? Well… yes, it would be, but he was curious who wrote to Cor.

The answer disappoints him, quite deeply, in fact. Connie set the letter down exactly where he found it, and shook his head. Disgraceful. They should at least pay their own war heroes. What was wrong with this country sometimes? He questioned his immigrant parents almost all the time.

Still, he needs a bath, Mage work takes it out of him, and he feels exhausted and gross, so Connie stands in the shower for a while, thinking about the letter, and an idea hits him. He rinses really quickly, and hops out, hair still dripping, and wraps the towel around his hips, and skips over to the phone.

He dials, pulling the cord a bit, slowly untangling the looped cord while the phone rings.

“Hey.” He said quietly, to not wake Cor. “I have something I want to talk about. With you guys, think you can call Angelo and Crystal and maybe some other people in the guild? Don’t worry. It’s a good something. It should be, at least. What is it? Well, do you remember my roommate from the other day?” Connie turned, hair still dripping wet, checking to see if Cor was awake. He put his ear to the receiver again.

“What is it? Well… it’s a surprise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even a small comment goes a long way, I would like to hear from anyone reading this.


	5. Anointment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Ahh, the posting error has been corrected, my apologizes, definitely don't post things when you are half-asleep.

The week passes and Cor’s supply of money dwindles dramatically, he buys some MRE from the Commissary, they’re bland and disgusting, but in Keycatrich that’s all he’d been eating, and honestly it’s the only thing he’s able to swallow, forcing himself to eat something. His stomach burns, but he just never feels like eating anymore. There’s no joy in the task of eating, there’s no desire, there’s no reason. For the past week he had avoided Connie, simply because he didn’t want them to see he wasn’t eating and didn’t have money to eat. Connie kept asking strange questions. “What laundry detergent smells the nicest to you?” or “How many pillows and blankets do you usually sleep with?” It was all a bit random, and he would ask in passing, Cor had made up a handful of answers just to appease him, and then Connie would smile and nod his head before saying. “Thanks.” And it confused Cor more and more.

He asked some simpler things at first, what his favorite color was (black) and what his favorite food was (sasa-dango) although the latter confused Connie and Cor wondered if he shouldn’t have said that at all. Then again, it was already apparent to the King that Cor was Doman, so he wasn’t that timid to tell Connie that.

While Connie acted strange, Commander Trellis acted a lot stricter. She had no kindness to spare him, he was busy being a janitor for her whole training room and also the bathrooms. That was disgusting, but he still did his job cleaning the place and using a lot of pine cleaner. He would get back to the barracks filthy and grimy and spent a good extra minute scrubbing it off so the smell would get out.

Today he expected more cleaning, so he gets ready to do so, but instead, Commander Trellis has a letter for him.

“Report to the King’s Garden at 800.” She ordered him.

“Yes ma’am.” Cor took the letter. It looked strange. It was scented, and the parchment was thin and delicate. Strangest of all, the paper had a wax seal, and had a very strange symbol inside the wax, an ornate circle, surrounded with other markings, curving around the circle with one point at the bottom, and two at the top.

“You have no cleaning duty today.” She told him. “Go to the Citadel.”

Cor saluted, grateful to just be away from stupid janitorial work. He left formation once it was over, and then peeled off the wax seal, and unfolded the letter. It was in calligraphy, and not really knowing how to read it, Cor could hardly make it out. He eventually figured out that it said: “ _Report to the Garden, show this to the guards at the back of the garden to be allowed entry._ ”

Today was a holiday for laborers, so the Citadel was closed to tourism, and also to workers, so it was somewhat quiet and empty inside. Cor traveled through the walk in gate and made his way up the stairs towards the back of the King’s Garden. There are guards there, and he shows them the calligraphy note and they easily let him pass. They don’t seem to be Crownsguard, although they are dressed in all black, they have a long flowing cape, a large collar of gold and black, and wear a strange helmet that seems to cover their eyes. They clearly see Cor far before he reaches the top of the stairs though, so Cor imagines it’s easy to see through it.

In the garden, it’s strangely quiet when it’s empty, and he easily spots the King – because he is surrounded with archery targets, set up around the garden. He has a bow in his hands, and arrows resting on a table. Mors looked over from where he was standing, and smiled graciously. The scar on the left side of his face seemed to tighten when he smiled, his eyes crinkling like that.

“There you are. Early, as always.” Mors remarked.

He was dressed in a black tunic, long crimson slacks, and black shoes, and had his hair groomed back away from his eyes today. It was slicked down, and groomed so there was just a short curl at the very end of his hair, which was halfway down his neck. His hands which clutched the bow and arrow were covered by crimson red gloves.

“Come here, close to me, lest you get pierced with an arrow.” Mors beckoned him, and Cor calmly stepped over the stone path in the koi pond and made his way to Mors.

When Cor approached, he noticed the embellishment of gold and silver all along the tunic, of some ancient looking design, like something from the medieval times, although Cor couldn’t really place it. He came up to Mors from behind, and he was aiming for a target that was far across the garden, and high up, in the rafters.

Cor stepped to the side, looking over the King, and seeing his features in the sunlight. His green eyes were cloudy greenish-white, like a light green jade. The scar around his face seems almost like veins, it’s unclear what exactly it is, other than it takes up space around his cheekbones and jaw.

Up close, it’s more apparent what Mors is doing. He isn’t actually pulling the bowstring at all. His hand hovers over the point of the string that is pulled taut, his left hand holding the bow properly. The arrow in the bow is actually a thin long piece of either crystal or ice. It is see through, and has no cracks, only coming down to a sharp, dagger-like point.

Mors releases the bow by unclenching his fist, and making his hand open and flat. The string immediately snaps back in place, hitting the arrow, and it flies into the target – a couple inches to the right of the bullseye, and slightly too high. The arrow shatters on impact, leading Cor to confirm it was in fact ice from the sound.

“That was close.” Cor remarked.

“No. It hit where I wanted it to.” Mors replied. “The heart is above the center of a man’s chest, and to the side.” Mors put his right hand on his own heart as if Cor needed confirmation.

“Did you send me this?” Cor held out the calligraphy letter.

“Indeed.” Mors didn’t even bother to take it, he raised his arms again, this time to a target that was on his right – Cor made sure to step back and around to give Mors room. This time it was at ground level.

The air around them gets cold for a second, Mors puts both hands on the wood of the bow, and slowly draws his right hand across the center, and a long thin icy arrow forms out of his movement. He plucks the bowstring, before forcing it to draw back with no physical touch to the string. He simply seems to hold the air around it, and the string and arrow stay up, and aligned.

Another shot. The same spot on the target, since this one is closer, Cor can see that the targets seem to have a lot of holes in that same spot, to the upper right of the bullseye, ‘where the heart would be’ as Mors mentioned.

“I heard you beat up Clarus.” Mors remarked.

Cor felt a knot form tight in his stomach.

“I… Excuse me… your Majesty…” Cor thought back to that long haired brat, trying not to get too overwhelmed at the thought that he knew King Mors.

“Think nothing of it.” Mors remarked. He formed another ice arrow, and aimed this time directly ahead of himself. “I heard of the matter from Dominus.”

“Dominus?” Cor asked, suddenly the knots in his stomach were as heavy as rocks, and he felt a sharp pain from his own nerves. “Marshal Dominus of the Crownsguard?”

“Yes.” Mors replied. “You see, he is in fact the brother of Fulvus Amicitia.” He shot the arrow, piercing another target through the ‘heart’. Mors put the bow down on the table that was situated beside him. “Fulvus… is my shield.”

“Right.” Cor replied. He recalled Fulvus from the award ceremony.

“Clarus, is Dominus’s son. The nephew of my dear Fulvus. My Amicitia. My closest friend.”

Cor almost felt like crumpling to the floor, shaking, sobbing, begging for forgiveness, but instead he looked down at Mors’s incredibly clean shoes, and whispered. “Oh.”

“He was furious, as you can imagine, that his son was injured.”

Cor stood rigid, staring down at the floor.

“When do I leave?” Cor asked.

Mors laughed.

“Oh… you misunderstood.” Mors chuckled a bit more. “He was furious at his son. Not at the assailant. He’s disappointed in him. And I believe Trellis is also furious about it. Is that right?”

“I apologize sir—”

“Oh, come off it.” Mors replied. “I do not care. Trellis has a temper, it’s an Amicitia trait sometimes… although she isn’t Amicitia by blood, they like the hotheaded ones. She is Fulvus’s wife.”

“I see.” Cor replied shortly.

“I wanted to ask, what exactly did you do to Clarus?”

“I…” Cor blinked. “I hit him with a wooden greatsword, hard enough to break it. Then we… we fought with real weapons, he hit me with his shield, and I cut his arm.”

“Indeed you did.” Mors replied. “Has your forehead healed well?”

Cor touched the bandage on his forehead. “It’s scabbed over.” He replied. “Should be gone soon.”

Mors nodded his head. “Tell me. In your time here so far, have you seen anything unusual?”

Cor looked around the King’s Garden for a while, he looked to the Ulwaat bushes, and then remembered the boy he saw that day, and he was the same boy that took Clarus away. “There was a boy in the garden.”

“This garden?” Mors asked.

“Yes sir.” Cor replied.

“Thin one, greasy hair, purple vest?” Mors continued. “Pale face, always wearing gloves, and a high pitch voice?t

“Yes sir.” Cor replied. “He was here, and in the training room when I hurt Clarus.”

“Yes, that sounds like him.” Mors remarked. He picked up the bow and drew another arrow from nothing, and then fired the ice into another target. “That’s my son.”

Cor blinked. “Ah.” He said, as if to agree with something. “I… didn’t know.”

“Don’t mind him.” Mors replied. “He’s awkward and gangly like a deer fawn born in the winter. Yet he’s strong, so I advise you not to upset him. He was very upset.” Mors shrugged. “Upset… but stupid. All he did was cry about it. He hasn’t done anything rash, as far as I know, and I don’t think he will.”

“Are you…. Warning me?” Cor asked.

“No, there’s nothing to warn you about.” Mors replied. “I will not let the Amicitia torture you any longer, just because Clarus was so bad at his job. If anything, I simply admire you. Boys like that need a bashing to their pride.” Mors finally sighed, and Cor realized he looked a bit out of breath. He tossed the bow and it disappeared in midair.

“Take these away.” Mors shooed at the items on the ground as well as the targets. “Clean it up.”

Cor realized there were some maids standing around on the edges of the garden, he didn’t notice them at first, but perhaps they were hiding because of the fear they’d get hit with an arrow. Mors pulled off his crimson red gloves, and Cor noticed how pale his hands were, probably cold from summoning the ice arrows, and his gloves did have a layer of frost on it. Mors walked over to the gazebo, and beckoned Cor to follow with no words, just the gesture of his hand.

Cor followed along, nervously, unsure of what exactly Mors wanted with him.

“You’re very strong, aren’t you?” Mors asked.

“I like to think so.” Cor replied.

“No need for modesty.” Mors smiled, and sat down on a very lavish looking chair, while Cor settled on standing until Mors gestured for the seat beside him, it was a square table, one chair on each side, although Mors had taken the largest and most comfortable looking. Cor took the chair Mors gestured to, on his right side.

“I’m impressed by you.” Mors remarked.

“You seem to be the only one.” Cor said somewhat quietly.

“Hmm?” Mors tilted his head. “What did you say?”

“I said, you seem to be the only one, sir.” Cor replied. “I’m afraid I’ve done nothing but scrub bathrooms and training mats since I got here. I don’t fight. I don’t do anything worthwhile.” Cor lowered his head, looking around, but the maids were gone. “Sir… you are the one who knows how old I really am. If you found me willing to keep, why am I not good enough to put out on the frontlines?”

Mors had a very calm smile, the same one he always seemed to have, thin, eyes crinkled, there was something warm about it, something strange, it was hard to tell if it was fake, because it seemed genuine.

“I need to keep the most valuable assets close to me.” Mors replied. “I am in need of it. You’d be surprised… I’m not well liked. Perhaps you know the feeling of not being well liked? Well… I know people plot to do things to me. Horrible things. When I brought you here… I assure you it’s not to insult you. That is why I’m pleased to hear you hurt Clarus, you are stronger than him, aren’t you? I admire that. The Amicitia try to be the strongest people in all of Lucis, and yet you surpassed them easily. I don’t think punishment is in order for that. I only ask you keep your blade sharp and your mind sharper. You will need to use both the longer you are here.”

Mors sighed, and leaned back in his chair, slowly unbuttoning the collar of his tunic, and a button down. He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve gotten sidetracked, when I asked if you saw anything unusual, I suppose I was asking in general. You’ve been roomed with the red mage boy, right? You’ve seen them shoot fire, lightning, have you seen them jump around and disappear?”

Cor raised his brow, he did recall people suddenly jumping forward without making a sound, and crystal shards surrounding them. He tried to think about it, but he never asked questions about much of anything.

“Yes, I’ve seen people do that. It’s a form of magic, right?”

“In a way, yes.” Mors replied. “It is called phasing. Or warping. Or shifting. Honestly I don’t really call it anything, so I’m not sure.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve decided to gift that to you as well. Although… I know I’ve warned you about what it can do to your body. This time I truly mean it.” His voice was dead serious for a second, and it made Cor a bit nervous.

“Should I do something to receive it?” Cor asked.

“Not at all.” Mors replied. “It’s on me, but I’m tired from archery…” He sighed again. Mors snapped his fingers and a maid seemed to suddenly appear at the gazebo, perhaps they were just waiting down there.

“Your Majesty.”

“My usual.” Mors replied. “What shall you have?”

Cor realized Mors was speaking to him. “Pardon me?”

“For breakfast.”

“Oh. I’m not hungry.”

“Don’t be preposterous.” Mors replied. “Do you eat French toast? Eggs? Sausage? Fruits and yogurt? Do you prefer just cereal?”

“I…” Cor didn’t know what to say, he really wasn’t hungry, but the idea is tempting, maybe it’ll actually be good. “What would you like me to order?”

“I would like you to order the thing you enjoy.”

Cor blinked, looking over to the maid.

“A bowl of rice… and some scrambled eggs.”

“Very well. Shall I order a mimosa as well?”

“A what?” Cor raised a brow.

“Order it.” Mors told her. “And a glass of milk, two glasses, and a platter of French toast and sausages.”

“Yes, your Majesty, right away.” She bowed her head. “Will that be all?”

“Anything else?” Mors asked.

“No thank you.”

“Go on.” Mors shooed her, she bowed very low, and walked backwards out of the place, continuing to bow, until she was at the steps and quickly turned to leave. Cor watched her, and then looked to Mors.

“Sir, is this… supposed to help me with warping?”

“What? Well… I suppose it could, breakfast is important, isn’t it?” Mors remarked. “The truth is I’m tired after the archery, I need to reset myself if I want to give you any powers right now… besides, you look awfully thin as well. You need to eat.”

Cor blinked, and didn’t say anything to it. The maid had returned with two long tube-like glasses filled with some bubbling golden liquid, and orange juice at the bottom. Either glass is set on their right side. They bring a pitcher of milk, and pour out two glasses, and leave the pitcher in a bucket of ice.

Cor reached for the golden drink, somewhat curious of it. He watched Mors swirl the liquid in the glass without touching it, manipulating it somehow, although he was very confused as to how, until the gold and orange was blended, then he tilted it back, and proceeded to drink about half the flute in one gulp.

Cor took a more careful sip, and cringed after, recoiling at the taste.

“Um… it’s… I think it went bad…”

Mors laughed, and smiled, they were always a warm smile, and Cor didn’t know how to feel.

“It’s fine.” Mors told him.

“I… it tastes like rotten grape soda and orange juice.”

“That is, technically, what it is.” Mors replied. “Do you not like it?”

Cor looked at the glass, and then took another sip, it sure felt weird to taste, but it was easy to go down. Then again, maybe something bubbly would help his stomach considering he didn’t find it co-operating.

“It’s just… strange.” Cor remarked. He took another sip after that, the aftertaste was weird too, but he didn’t complain about it anymore, he’d surely complained about enough.

After a short while, they brought Mors a small bowl of Banora white apples, diced into cubes, with slices of banana, covered in yogurt, and a small thing of honey to pour over it. There was English muffin, with poached eggs, and thick chunks of crab meat, with a yellow sauce poured over it, two both side by side, and the smell alone made his mouth water.

Cor figured it had been a while since he had good food.

“Where is his meal?” Mors gestured to Cor.

“The rice will be done shortly.” The maid assured him. “We have not been requested it in a while.”

“Then I will wait. Cover this.” Mors gestured to his plate with his head. The maid came forward and covered the plate with a silver dome. Cor looked up concerned.

“It’s all right, you don’t have to wait.” Cor assured.

“Manners may not be prevalent in the Crownsguard, but they are important to me.” Mors returned. He continued to sip his drink, and then handed the empty champagne flute over so that the maid would take it, and they walked off with it, returning with it filled.

After a fairly short while, they set down a large bowl of rice and scrambled eggs, steam still trailing off the top. A plate of breakfast sausages, smooth and grey-brown, shiny with fat drippings and burned brown-black on the sides. The French toast was seven small slices off a long round loaf of bread, perhaps a baguette, and coated evenly in cinnamon and egg wash, and covered in a layer of powdered sugar, it also came with a small cup of syrup to pour over it.

“Thank you.” Mors remarked. “That will be all.”

At that, the maid took the silver dome off his food, and Mors took a fork and knife and sliced into the English muffin and a bit of egg, letting the middle yolk run a bit, it was mostly solid, and he hummed quietly at that.

“Eat.” He commanded, and Cor felt like he had no choice but to follow.

He shoved a spoonful of rice in his mouth and found out it was burning, so he panted a bit, letting the air in his mouth, and then swallowed, hoping he didn’t burn his tongue. He shoved another swallow of rice.

“Um…” Cor murmured.

“Yes?” Mors asked.

“Is there… ketchup?” Cor asked quietly. “For the eggs?”

Mors nodded his head. He snapped his fingers and one of the maids appeared again and walked up the gazebo steps.

“Ketchup.” He told the maid.

“Ketchup?” They furrowed their brow, as if confused.

“For the young man.” Mors gestured. “He requested it.”

The maid hesitated. “We have a tomato sauce –”

“Ketchup.” Mors repeated. “If they have to drive to a store, then they can.”

“No, it’s fine –” Cor spoke up.

“No, it’s not.” Mors returned. “I have no reason to accept mediocre, so I won’t accept it. Get a bottle.”

“I’ll call them right away sir.” The maid bowed and left.

“Hopefully they will not take long…” Mors huffed.

He took another fork and cleaned his knife on his tongue. Mors cut into one of those small rounds of French toast, and poured syrup on it, the powdered sugar melted away at the touch. He shoved the forkful in his mouth, and then sipped the mimosa.

Cor felt a bit awkward, unsure of what to do at the moment.

“Would you like one?” Mors asked.

“Huh?” Cor asked.

“Naturally, royalty is not inclined to share food, but I make exceptions – good food should be shared.” Mors assured him. “I ordered this for the both of us.”

Cor blinked, looking down at the French toast. “I’m all right sir.” The rice was cooked well, sticky and fluffy and not burnt like any time he tried to make it. The eggs were fluffed as well, seasoned lightly with something.

Mors cut another piece, and slid it through the syrup still on the plate. He offered it out to Cor. “Here.” He said.

Cor didn’t hesitate, the King was already offering, so he leaned over the corner of the table, and took the whole piece in his mouth, a drop of syrup was close to dropping but it just ended up on his chin instead. It was soft, and warm, and sweet and cinnamon-y. He swallowed, feeling the tightness in his stomach diminishing a bit. It had been a long time since he felt that tightness finally go away.

“Is it good?” Mors asked.

Cor nodded. “I’ve… never really had anything like it before.” He felt like his stomach was finally settling down since Keycatrich, or maybe not, but he finally wanted to eat _something_.

Mors’s hand touched his chin, and swiped the line of syrup on his mouth. Cor froze in place, and Mors brought his index finger to his mouth and licked the syrup off.

“It can be quite sticky.” Mors remarked. “I find I enjoy breakfast foods, but I despise breakfast hours… Eating with someone makes it a bit more bearable, don’t you think?”

“Yeah…” Cor replied. He wasn’t wrong, eating with Connie was nicer too.

“Um… sir.”

“Yes?”

“Is uh… Clarus going to be all right?”

“Of course.” Mors replied. “If he wasn’t, you’d be dead by now. The Amicitia are vengeful creatures.” Mors takes another bite of his main dish, this time with a good chunk of crab meat on his fork.

“That’s… good.” Cor replied.

“Surprisingly, his arm is in quite bad shape. I was impressed when I learned this – but it’s also a hassle, now my son is cooped up inside, and it’s a bit… annoying.”

“Your son?”

“Yes. Clarus is my son’s shield.” Mors explained. “I don’t like sending my son away without his shield close. I told you before, didn’t I? People are plotting against me. People who don’t like me. And they will do horrible things… but my son… bless him… he is too used to freedom. I sent him away to be raised, far to the west, in Cleigne, and brought him back hear to teach him to lead, but… maybe it was a waste…” He sighed. “Regardless, I don’t care about Clarus, his wounds will heal, I care about the person strong enough to damage him.”

“It wasn’t fair.” Cor replied quickly. “I just got the upper hand.”

“The upper hand is life or death in these situations.” Mors replied. “A King should plan on survival, and I intend to survive. If the upper hand can be gained, you take it, and you win. If that fight were real, if Clarus had full intent to kill you, would you kill him?”

Cor hesitated hard, he was silent for a few long tense moments. It would be a crime to make a remark about killing a royal family member, especially an Amicitia. He swallowed thick, thinking the answer through.

“If I was in danger… I would do what I can to save my life.” He sighed. “If it means killing someone, I’ll do it… I already did it. I can do it again.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear.” Mors replied. “Well, I would’ve been just fine with ‘yes, I’ll kill Clarus if I have to.’ but your answer seems more… professional, doesn’t it?”

“I really didn’t mean to lose control.” Cor explained.

“That’s all right.” Mors returned. “My son has been pouting about it, but I wanted to bring you here to let you know you are forgiven.” Mors reached over, and patted the back of Cor’s hand. “I told my son to come down here and say you were forgiven… but… alas, he’s a brat.” Mors clicked his tongue. “He is watching us, of course.”

Cor blinked. “He is?”

Mors nodded. He summoned an ice arrow, and instead of a bow, he turned towards his right, and threw the ice like a spear, out the gazebo, and towards the Ulwaat bush. An explosion of blueish crystals appeared, but Cor didn’t see anyone.

“If you’re going to eavesdrop again, then at least have some courtesy to pick new hiding spots!” Mors spoke loudly out towards the garden.

“ _Ugh_.” The voice is distant, but Cor doesn’t see anyone, he just sees the branches of the next couple of plants tremble, and then they eventually stop.

“Don’t worry.” Mors assured Cor. “I didn’t hit him. I only aim for the heart, or I don’t bother.” Mors explained, looking to the bushes. Cor also looked, it had to be 100 yards away. He wondered how accurately one could throw ice, but he didn’t bother questioning it.

Mors rubbed his hands together. “I need coffee.” He hummed, and snapped his fingers for another maid.

“Coffee, two sugars, and cream.” He said, and clapped his hands.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

As that maid left, another approached, this one carrying a glass bottle of ketchup, still in it’s packaging.

“Here you are, your Majesty.” She presented the glass bottle.

“Don’t leave it like that.” Mors instructed. “Open it for him.”

She peeled off the tape and protective seal and opened the cap. The maid came forward, and offered the bottle, Cor tried to grab it, but she held the bottle horizontally and said “Say when.”

Cor raised his brow, and she started to pour the ketchup on the eggs.

“When.” Cor said. “It’s fine, I can do it.”

She set the bottle down, and Cor took it and poured the ketchup himself. Mors shoos her away, and they are, supposedly, alone again. Cor has a feeling the maids are just out of sight somewhere, it seems they appear in an instant. He wondered for a second if the servants also could warp, but he shakes off the idea. Warping was so loud and bright, it would’ve been noticeable, instead they probably stand out of view of the King. Cor wondered why.

Mors continued with his meal finishing off the dish or egg and crab surprisingly quick, and then working on the fruit and yogurt. He finished another mimosa, asking for a refill of it as well. Cor focused on his, the mimosa, despite that slightly rotten taste, was bubbly and tart, he felt a bit funny drinking it, warm in the tips of his fingers, it was nice. He finished the glass faster than he really meant to, he slowed down, trying to take his time, not eat so messy, but he couldn’t help it, he hadn’t wanted to eat like this in so long.

Mors offered the plate of sausages he ordered earlier, Cor had a feeling it was ordered for him, but it hardly mattered either way, Cor graciously accepted, and also took another mimosa, although he really would’ve preferred a glass of water. The sausage was thin and greyish inside, browned on either side, shiny with fat drippings, they were spiced mildly, and Cor enjoyed them greatly.

Another servant approached, this time with coffee, this one was dressed in black slacks, a long sleeve black shirt with golden décor, and a choker necklace around his neck. He had short black hair, a clean face, thin eyebrows, dark green eyes, and a tan complexion. He had his head down, Cor noticed he had a bandage on his neck, under his choker necklace. The man approached with the small plate and a cup of coffee and placed it at Mors’s side.

“Your Majesty.” He had a soft voice.

“Zodia.” Mors spoke up, sitting up in his chair. “A pleasant surprise.”

Zodia bowed his head, his short black hair slicked back tight with gel. He gave a shy smile to Mors.

“Cor.” Mors spoke, and Cor quickly swallowed his food and put his utensils down. “This is Zodia, son of the Baron of Keycatrich.

Cor blinked. “Oh.” He said quietly, not sure how to react.

“Zodia.” Mors gestured. “This is Cor Leonis. He is one of the survivors of the battle at Keycatrich.”

Zodia glanced over to Cor eyes widened a bit. Then he bowed his head. “Thank you for your sacrifice.” He bowed very low, Cor really didn’t know how to feel.

“No problem.” He replied. “Sorry I didn’t do more… sir.”

Zodia lifted his head from his bow, but he still gazed downward. “It’s all right. At least you’re alive.”

“He rooms with Constantine.” Mors added.

Zodia’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“You mean Connie? Yeah.”

“Wow.” Zodia remarked. “Please, tell him I said thank you… that Zodia said thank you.”

Cor blinked. “If you wish.”

“I will see you later.” Mors cut in. “Are you busy today?”

“Not very.” Zodia told the King. “Would you prefer me to be?”

“No. Relax for now.” Mors ushered him away. Zodia bowed again and left while Mors stared at him leaving, sipping his coffee. Once Zodia was gone, Mors turned back to Cor.

“He works for me now, since his home got destroyed, he lives here too with his family… what is left of them.” Mors explained.

“I see.” Cor replied.

“Constantine was tasked with evacuating the royal family.” Mors explained. “He was there in the beginning, to escort out Zodia’s family… the ones willing to go, at least. Unfortunately, not all of them came.”

Cor thought for a long while. “He never told me that.”

“Did he not? I suppose Constantine is not very personable, I never got to know him well, although I am grateful to have him.”

“I didn’t know you knew him.”

“I know all the red mages, I founded that little club of theirs… the guild or something. I am the one who let them take on those powers.” Mors explained. “You recall I mentioned that some people are attuned to magic and others are not? Constatine is one of the strongest mages in the group. He comes from a land called Kashuan, a meteor once fell there, just like Lucis, it’s an ancient place, far past Niflheim.” He tilted his head. “Few of them ever come here, but I am lucky to have Constantine be on my side.” Mors glanced at Cor. “I see now that I was right, to put you two together. I had a feeling you both were strong.”

“I didn’t realize he was so strong.” Cor remarked.

“Even better. Surprise is a good element to have.” Mors explained. He sighed, and drank his coffee down. “I would send Constantine before any other red mage. He can’t help it, he was simply born with a talent he could not control, but I have shown him how to take advantage of that.”

He set the empty cup of coffee down. “But you.” He locked eyes with Cor. “You have effort. You had to work to get this far. You weren’t born with attunement to magic, you weren’t born with muscles, you had to earn them all.”

Cor didn’t know what to say.

“I want to give you a fighting chance, that’s why, despite my better judgement, I will give you the power to warp, so long as you realize, that you mustn’t use it, unless it is an extreme emergency.” He said. “Do you understand?”

“Yessir.” Cor replied.

Mors nodded his head. He drank down the rest of his mimosa, and after another small bite of French toast said. “Very well, I feel a bit better. I’m ready to offer.”

He stood up from the table, and beckoned Cor to follow. He wasn’t finished with his food, but without skipping a beat he dropped everything and followed. Mors wandered over to the koi pond, where the fish recognized his form, and started to gather by the edge of the pond, some popping out of the water, perhaps hoping for food, or hoping Mors would come close. Mors takes a deep breath.

“Only warping. No elemancy. Mage abilities will destroy you, and are not worth the energy to expend them.”

“I trust your word.” Cor assured him, it seemed Mors told him already several times. “Only warping. Only emergencies.”

Mors gave a curt nod. “I rather stand somewhere softer.” He remarked. “I have to do this standing up. It’s a bit of a problem.”

“Take your time.” Cor didn’t really understand what was going to happen, he thought it’d be fast, like the weapon hold, but it seemed this was different, warping would react differently to his body, Cor couldn’t help being nervous about the warning.

Mors produced a vial from his tunic, crystal clear, with a stopper on top shaped like the symbol on the wax seal of the letter to Cor. It was filled with a thin tan-yellow substance. “Come.” He commanded, and Cor stepped closer.

Mors uncapped the vial, and stepped even closer, almost bringing Cor into his chest, and then he dabbed the oil on Cor’s head. The scent was strange, not flowery or musky or fruity, it was perfumed with something, but he did not know what. Cor blinked his eyes shut, unsure what to do, and let Mors anoint him.

After that, Mors put his hands over his head, and stood very still. Cor felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his body shaking a bit, unable to move, unable to think of very much, although he was alarmed. He stayed as still as he could, and let the sensation overcome him. Cor didn’t fight it. His belief that Mors would not hurt him never once wavered.

For a second he felt weightless, all of a sudden, everything faded, his ability to take anything in had vanished, seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching, it felt like it was all gone. Something limitless was inside him. He lets out a breath of air and didn’t realize he was holding it in.

When he comes to, he touches his head, and rubs his eyes.

“Your Majesty…” He heard a voice which made him tense up, and as vision filled in, he saw Mors laying on his back flat on the grass. His eyes clouded, body limp, the oil spilt on him.

“Can you hear me?” The servants had rushed over, three of them, and Zodia spoke up, holding Mors’s head in his lap, nervously clutching him, touching his jaw, holding the side of his face. Mors didn’t respond.

“Wh… what happened…?” Cor asked, nervously stepping back. He didn’t mean to cause anything, yet here Mors was, lying unconscious.

After a couple seconds, he started to twitch a bit, and shifted around and came back. He rubbed his tired eyes, glancing up at Zodia, tilting his head. “Did I faint again?” He asked quietly.

“Yes you did, your Majesty.”

“For how long?” His voice sounded soft and almost dreamlike in the daze.

“About ten seconds.”

“Oh… not too bad… but… it’s getting worse.” Mors sighed. “I’m hitting my limit… “Your Majesty, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Cor spoke up.

“You didn’t, my dear.” Mors spoke softly. “You performed well. Feel any pain?”

“No sir. Not any.”

“Good. That’s a good sign.” Mors assured him in a quiet voice. Zodia slowly stroked the King’s hair back, brushing it away from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. “It should have worked.”

“We told you not to overdo it.” Zodia spoke just as quiet.

“Hush.” Mors said, but contained none of his usual sternness, his commands were weak and tired. Yet Zodia obeys and said nothing, while Mors slowly but surely began to raise his head and sit upright. “I’m afraid I couldn’t handle it like I thought… but so long as it worked.” Mors reached out to touch Cor’s shoulder. “In time we’ll see your potential, but for training, I suppose you will need the most minimal training possible… for your own sake.”

Mors gestured to Zodia, and the young man rose, he took Mors’s hand, and lifted him up. Mors was a bit dizzy, but overall fine, and walked back to the gazebo. “It’s time for me to go, I suppose I spent too much time here. It’s nice to pass time with someone who listens.’ He glanced to Cor, who followed along. “Take care of yourself. I need a good couple of people like you… If you want to finish eating, you may stay… but I must go.”

“I better get on.” Cor told him, not wanting to impose, especially not without the King there beside him. He felt nervous if he was not there with the King, like he would get in trouble. “Thank you Mors.”

The servants, even Zodia, looked a bit uneasy at calling the King ‘Mors’ with no title. Cor still preferred ‘sir’ but he stood by trying to remember what he was told. Mors wanted to be called just that.

“Speak to Trellis again… I assure you, if you get any more flack, you can report it to me, and then you will never get it again.”

Cor bowed his head. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

He watched the servants let Mors sit down in the gazebo, giving him ice water, and a bunch of different pills, much to the unsure King’s expression, but despite it, he took the pills, almost five in one go, and swallowed them all with a large gulp of ice water. Cor stepped away, slowly making his way back towards the base. He felt something on his back, and turned and glanced up, towards the Citadel, and saw a boy standing in the window. King Mors’s son. Regis.

He was frowning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your comments you guys, it means a lot to me to read your questions and speculations and I really appreciate it. Thanks again for reading.


	6. Falling Into Place

The sharp sound of a metal blade leaving its sheath is fast, thin and cutting through the air, only cut by the sharp crack of a whip. Cor braced himself, and stumbled in pain as the sharp sting wrapped around his hands. This time, he didn’t drop the weapon.

“Too slow.”

The King’s voice is so gentle and careful, he isn’t out of breath, and instead just pulls himself back, acting as if this is a simple school lesson, and not a fight.

King Mors was dressed differently, he wore all sorts of outfits, and most of them elegantly. Today he was, as always, dressed in black, but not a suit and cape with the King’s crown and heeled oxford shoes. Instead, it was a long ankle-length tunic, and a cloak around his shoulders, pieced together by a silver chain that connected to a choker necklace around his throat, so it didn’t fall off his shoulders. The cloak has a belt made of thin rope tied around the thinnest part of his waist, making him look like he had an hourglass figure. The cloak is covered in ancient runes, they looked like the ones that the Oracles carved into havens. His tunic has very neat simple design in comparison. He’s wearing flat ballet slipper shoes today, although Cor doesn’t know why – Mors is never on his feet when he fights.

Mors is levitating, and Cor doesn’t really know how, or why he does it. He keeps himself about a foot off the ground, his toes pointed downward, and his posture relaxed like he’s reclining back in a chair. His cloak is merely hanging off his shoulders and touching the ground. The King’s body language gives no indication he’s even fighting – Cor really isn’t sure if the man actually is.

In Mors’s hands, there is a black bullwhip, his weapon of choice. Cor initially didn’t think that he was being serious, but after two fights, and being hit so hard his skin ripped and bled from the force, he’s changed his tune. That weapon is the work of a devil – and Mors doesn’t even strike with the intent to kill. The one thing Cor has always been doing, Mors even encouraged it—which was why this happened.

Cor bites back the urge to say once again, he does not feel comfortable fighting King Mors. He worried hurting the King would put him in trouble, although this was Mors’s idea, after all. Well, it in fact sounded like Commander Trellis’s idea, most likely still upset that Cor had gotten away scot free for hurting her nephew Clarus. Mors didn’t seem to care either way though, he was, after all, the one who let Cor off the hook to begin with.

Mors reads his mind, or at least his hesitation, and speaks up again. “You don’t want to be stuck in basic training forever, do you?” Mors asked. “You and I both know you can do better… I can’t gauge your limit if you don’t go all out.”

Again, Mors’s reassurance does make Cor feel a bit better, he’s able to think a bit more about fighting his own boss, the very King of Lucis, and remind himself that he mustn’t disappoint.

Finally, Cor tries to go for another attack, and the same emerald green light flashes, and Mors’s whip strikes Cor’s blade, sliding along towards the handle and bashing his hands with it so hard the skin rips. Cor recoiled, stumbling hard, although not trying to lose his sword. He cursed under his breath.

Mors didn’t even stop levitating, he seemed to know how to calmly keep himself upright as well as being able to viciously punish anyone trying to disturb him.

“Sir…” Cor replied. “It was different in the trench –” Cor is cut off by a whip sounding through the air, and he has little time to raise his sword into the whip, but the whip hits the sword, curves over it, and hit’s Cor’s head and the back of his shoulder.

“How?” Mors replied. “They had guns? Turrets? Mortars? Did Keycatrich not have bombs and dozens of machine soldiers? I am only one person…”

Cor tries not to complain anymore about this. Instead, he wipes the blood off his hands by wiping it on his pants, and he tried to tighten his grip on the Genji blade’s handle. He doesn’t go in to swing again, but backs up so he has more time to think. Mors has never attacked him first, not so far at least, he just levitates there, arms folded.

“You won’t hit me.” Cor stated.

Mors raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need to.” He doesn’t deny the claim.

“This is a fight.” Cor continued.

“No. This is training. I’m trying to gauge you.”

“Can you really gauge me without a fight?”

“I assure you, if I fought you with true intent, you will die.” Mors says so with no change of tone, a casual matter of fact, not at all a threat that it should sound like.

It hits Cor in his stomach, perhaps a bruise to his pride, that he’s trying so hard and knows now that Mors isn’t trying at all. Still, he tries to reconcile, it is the King after all, he should be strong, stronger than anyone else, yet he’d seen Mors be vulnerable, passing out in the garden, and other things, where did his strength come from? The one he gave Cor?

Cor lunged, this time he takes the pain, and leans into the hits harder. Mors is quick, but the whip can only go so far before it must be pulled back and rethrown, and Cor focuses on that weakness to get in close. At that point, a shield is between him and Mors, raised high, emerald green and made of crystal clear hexagon shapes. Cor hit again, but felt like he was bouncing off that shield. He watched Mors, noticing he was grounded, no longer levitating, he stayed in place. Cor shifted to the side, watching Mors follow him, eyes locked. He couldn’t get around the shield, but Mors couldn’t hold it up forever.

Indeed, the King drops the shield, and Cor lunges again. He watches Mors lift his bare hand, and actually dare to catch the blade – Cor can’t bring himself to hurt him, and turns the blade, but it feels too late, he hits his arm, and Mors jerked away from the sudden sensation.

“ _Thundaga_ —” The voice is careful, but Cor immediately feels thrown to the floor. It takes a long while to figure out that he wasn’t thrown, merely his body had seized up, and he fell to the floor immediately, and felt every muscle tense as purple-white lightning shot through him. Cor let out a cry of pain, and suddenly it was done, Mors raises his hand to gesture this fight being over.

“Good.” Mors remarked. His voice comes in slowly for Cor as he recovers from being shocked. He turns to the edge of the walls, where their audience was. Cor had almost forgotten they were there, just wanting to impress Mors and nothing else, he had focused all his energy on the fight. “I’ve made my decision.” Mors said, and Cor’s heart is a lump in his throat. He’s worried that the King made a decision so quickly. He glanced over to the Amicitia that are there, and stays on the floor. They all look a bit smug to see Cor knocked around and shaking on the floor.

“Clarus is too weak.” Mors remarked. Fulvus and Trellis both looked shocked and almost offended by the statement, but didn’t dare voice a thing to Mors. “This solider –” Mors gestured down to Cor. “He could’ve killed Clarus. He would’ve done it easily too. I would bet gil on it. He has everything your family lacks. Experience, _real_ experience, not play dummies and wooden swords— he has seen corpses and burned down cities; and most of all, he has nothing to lose. How can you compete with that? We’ve become cushioned aristocrats, clinging to our boxed in lifestyle… I don’t hate it, not at all, but it’s… refreshing to see someone who has their eyes fixed on war and death. Don’t you think?”

Nobody said anything.

Mors stepped away from where he was standing, and stumbled on the mat. Cor looked down at the floor, given he was on it, and realized there was pool of red near Mors’s feet.

“Your Majesty!” Zodia cried out. “You’re bleeding!” He dropped the towel he was holding and rushed over to grab Mors. Mors looked down, and pulled his cloak back off his shoulder.

Indeed, the same slashing motion Cor had made, tracing from Mors’s forearm, where he’d dodged getting caught by Mors’s palm, up past his elbow, and then dragging over his chest until hitting his shoulder. Mors looked down, realizing his clothes under his cloak was ripped, but not only that, was seeping red with blood. He blinked a few times, then slowly, carefully, turned around to look at Cor.

“You… hit me?” Mors asked, his voice slow and soft, confused at the situation. He looked at his blood, running down his arm, dripping off the tips of his fingers. He rolled up his sleeve, and tried to take a look at the damage. There was a long thin strip on Mors’s forearm where the blood originated, and his pale skin around it was coated in red. “You hit me…” He said, trailing off. He was surprised. He looked back over at Cor.

Cor blinked. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare get off the ground. He didn’t understand fully. He could’ve sworn he didn’t hit Mors, or at best only nicked him with a cut on the arm.

It hardly mattered what Cor thought, the truth was Mors was injured, bleeding before him.

Mors laughed. “Well, that proves my point, doesn’t it?” His smile is so alarmingly warm, even if he is in a distressing position as being injured. “Regardless…” He stumbled a bit more, clutching his arm. “I have made my decision. He is stronger than Clarus, and he’s stronger than most of you, he will only train with the higher ranking soldiers and elite – say what you want, but if we have a soldier with such potential, we shouldn’t waste it. Give him the best of what we can. Graduate him from training as soon as possible, he doesn’t fit in any training at his class level… he might be in for another promotion just for that.”

Cor stared, baffled by what had just happened, still not up from laying on the floor. He felt flattered, he wanted to be taken seriously, and now he had been, and part of him couldn’t help thinking smugly of how Clarus would feel about this.

That feeling of being smug went away quickly when Mors took another step forward, showing that blood had actually pooled massively at his feet, and Cor’s eyes widened. It was a lot of blood, more than Cor had realized. Another step, and Mors stumbled, and fell to his knees.

“Majesty!” Zodia dropped the towel in his hands and dashed forward to Mors. Cor felt his heart in his throat as soon everyone approached, Fulvus, Trellis, the guards, all of them crowding King Mors as he lay in a thin pool of his own blood.

“Get bandages, get the medical potion and iron supplements.” Zodia said, and pulled Mors’s head into his lap and carefully tried to wake the unconscious King.

This time, Cor froze up, and watched the other scramble around, pulling out bandages, and then ripping open King Mors’s sleeve to wrap his intensely bleeding wound. The wound was not even that deep, but his blood was thin like water almost, seeing how it was like it poured from his wounds. After over full minute, Mors finally opened his eyes, and Cor let out a breath, not realizing he’d held it in.

“How long.” Mors stated. He didn’t even question what had happened, it seemed he was very used to passing out.

Zodia ran his fingers through Mors’s curled black locks of hair. He glanced at his watch, but Cor noticed he’d been counting quietly. “73 seconds sir.”

Mors nodded his head. “Not good…” He murmured. “Patch me up.” He sounded so light and airy and vulnerable, nothing like only a few minutes ago.

“Yes sir, we’re getting right on that.” Trellis said aloud.

“You…” Mors raised his head, just to look at Cor. “Stay here. With me.” Mors said.

“Y… Yes sir.” Cor replied. He shifted a bit, on his knees, sitting seiza-style, and not dare moving closer.

“Contact the blood bank.” Zodia told another guard, and urged them to go. “Any blood type, Mors will need something.”

The bandages that covered Mors’s arm were already soaked through and red. Mors used his other arm to slowly push himself up, causing Fulvus to kneel down and grasp Mors. Mors slapped the man’s hand away.

“Enough.” Mors hissed. “It’s clear to me now, this boy is strong, so strong that _I_ have to test him because you are all so incompetent in comparison.” Mors sounded irate at his shield. “He _hit_ me. Your nephew couldn’t dream of achieving that.” Mors snapped at both. “You were right to have me place him, because I have decided – he will not be placed under any of your training at all. He has passed the full course on training, he shall be placed in elite, every day, learning hands on work. He is an invaluable asset, more so than even Clarus Amicitia.”

Mors didn’t push his arms down, but instead seemed to use some sort of aero magic to push himself back up on his feet, as it blew up his long tunic robes, and pushed the pool of blood across the mat, his hair flew up away from his face, and it seemed like a simple movement picked up him onto two feet. Zodia stepped back from the pressure, but immediately came to his side when the wind stopped, and Mors leaned on him. Mors turned, and bowed his head to Cor. “You truly are one of the best.” He stated, and Cor had never felt lighter.

Cor finally stood back on his feet, and Mors leaned on his attendent, clutching to Zodia’s sleeve. “Thank you, sir.”

“The pleasure has been mine.” Mors replied. “You are dismissed. Report to the elite training annex when I tell you to go. Now if you’ll excuse me… I best head to the medical wing.” He leaned, stumbling with Zodia as he tried to move his weight. Cor stayed still, the stiffest posture he could’ve had, and watched as Mors wandered, tightly grasping his servant. Zodia carefully brushed Mors’s hair out of his eyes, and continued to look up carefully. Cor had a smirk on his face that couldn’t seem to go away, even when he finally noticed Trellis and Fulvus and their dark expressions in their eyes.

* * *

 

There was an issue that Cor had continued to forget to explain to Mors, and he felt it was such a petty issue it need not be brought up to the King. The sudden move from Keycatrich to Insomnia had left him without money as they continued to forward his checks to the wrong address, and when they sent it to him, he never seemed to get them. He eventually learned there was some thievery in some of the postal services, especially when it was from Leide to Insomnia, ever since the Niffs came, they were privy to stealing Lucian mail. It was mostly a rumor, but Cor couldn’t help wondering if it was true given his luck with the post office so far.

Still, even with the ever dwindling money, Cor couldn’t really have his good mood go away. Being told by the King of Lucis that he was better than another aristocrat, especially a shield family like the Amicitia, it had his head buzzing. He figured he could possibly find something cheap enough to treat himself to, since he’d been surviving on little more than coffee and toast.

Cor searched in his pack, and found a dusty scrunched up package of an MRE, the writing was worn off, probably something ancient he got from the battle in Keycatrich. He tore it open, a bit disappointed to see it was powder, and not an energy bar or something like it. Porridge. Cor took the package to the sink, filling it with water, and mixing it with a fork. He let it absorb, the water was lukewarm, and the porridge is cold and hardly absorbed, but, like always, it’s not the worst thing he has eaten – still, he likes to dream a bit of that day with King Mors, that early morning, the small rounds of French toast, the fluffy eggs, the crisp fried sausage – it’s nothing more than a fantasy, but he craved more, he wanted to save up for a meal like that.

He’s halfway through the porridge when a knock is at the door. It’s not stern or loud, like a seargeant about to do a random search of their barrack – usually those happened at night anyway. It was quiet, Cor almost wasn’t sure it happened, but the knock came again. He imagined Connie forgot his key, but Connie usually spoke up. He put the fork in the porridge, and held it in his left hand while he pried the door open with his right hand.

It was someone he’d never seen before. They probably knew Connie, because they had the symbol for the Red Mage Guild patched onto their chest over their heart. They looked like a Lucis Caelum, skinny, near frail looking, but average height, black clothes, long black hair, bangs coming just above his eyebrows, parted down the middle, tucked behind his ears, thick framed glasses, and blue eyes. He had a package in his hands, holding it in front of himself. He turned to look at Cor, adjusting his glasses with his middle and index finger.

“Oh.” They said aloud. “I… Is Connie here?”

“No.” Cor said.

“I see.” A bow of their head. “You are… Cor?”

Cor nodded.

“I see. Then, this is for you.” The man handed over the package.

“What is that?”

“It’s a gift… tell Connie I can’t make it tonight.”

“Tonight? What’s happening tonight?” Cor asked. He still didn’t take the bag.

“Huh?” The other responded. “Well, the party.”

Cor furrowed his brow. “I think you’re mistaken.”

“I’m not.” They seemed sure. “Connie told us. I must be going, may I put this down?”

Cor gestured to the right. “Put it by the sink.”

“Very well.” They didn’t complain, quickly they walked to the sink, setting the package down, and then they bowed and left. Cor felt the whole thing was a bit strange, but he didn’t even try to touch the package. After his time in Keycatrich, he didn’t trust anything hidden that people gave him, too many live grenades, too many IED, he stayed away, and finished his package of porridge, eyeing the bag from a distance.

He cleaned the package out with water – he couldn’t stand ants, insects, buzzing, crawling around, digging in corpses – the thought makes him shudder, so he cleans every glass he drinks from and every plate and package he uses, and sometimes the ones Connie uses and doesn’t wash. The energy he felt from being praised by Mors is still not out of his system – he feels like doing something, but he knows better. As winter gets harsher, and a cold sweep runs across Insomnia, Cor knew he had to save his energy, wasting it means needing more food, and that wasn’t a commodity he could really afford.

He lays in bed, restless, but still trying to obey his own rules to not overdo it. His worry about Mors overpowered him more than curiosity over the bag just delivered to his door. Sure, Mors had woken and walked away, but Mors fainted again, and for a long time, as much as Cor felt some surprise that he’d actually hit Mors, he was filled with worry that perhaps Mors might get upset about it. Would he take  back what he’d said? Cor wasn’t sure he could handle the thought of that; mostly because he couldn’t imagine the Amicitia’s smug looks on their faces.

Before he can overthink much longer, another knock comes to the door, and this time the people he recognized, Crystal and Angelo, both also carrying packages.

“Are we late?” Angelo asked.

“Late for what?” Cor returned the question.

“For the party.” Crystal chimed in.

“What party?” Cor furrowed his brow.

Crystal and Angelo stared at each other. “Connie didn’t tell him.” Angelo said.

“Didn’t tell me what?” Cor continued.

There’s a sound coming down the hall, so Cor popped his head out the doorway, seeing Connie stumbling down the hallway with dirty boots still on. Cor shivered a bit, hoping Connie would clean his muddy shoes immediately, he hated the dirt tracks.

“I’m here –” Connie piped up. “I’m here – I’m—Cor!” Connie jumped seeing Cor, his brown eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.” Cor replied.

“I know.” Connie huffed. “Go sit down, I’m going to prepare.”

Cor knit his brows, and it seemed Angelo and Crystal were doing the same. Connie cleaned off the sink counter, and then pulling out a small folding table he had under his bed. Crystal and Angelo both put bags down on the table, and Cor stepped back, grabbing his bag.

“Are you have some sort of party? I can go.”

“Huh?” Connie asked. “Oh, no, no.” He waved his hand dismissively. “I wanted this to be a surprise, but you came back from training so quickly today. It’s your party.”

“Mine?” Cor gestured to himself as if he needed more clarification on who they were talking about.

“Yes you.” Connie said.

“…Why?”

Connie smiled. “Well, uh, to help you settle in.” He tilted his head. “I just feel like you needed it.”

Cor blinked a few times. He had a feeling he knows what this is about. He’d been avoiding Connie since the man tended to spend so frivolously on food or movies or vinyl’s, and Cor didn’t want to dampen the mood, so he stayed away. He should’ve figured Connie had noticed.

“I… see.” Cor murmured. “Um—”

Another knock on the door, Connie quickly dashed away, Cor notices how lithe he was, and careful, as he stepped around. Connie’s boots were clean, thankfully, he wore thigh-high boots, pitch black, that rested naturally around his thighs, and seemed to wear that with the typical Crownsguard uniform. Another person, dressed in a blue jumpsuit with some goggles around their neck, they seemed relatively cleaned up, but their outfit is covered in grease stains and tar-like smears. A machinist. Cor hadn’t really met with them, they typically stuck around researchers studying Niflheim technology.

“You made it.” Connie smiled, and welcomed them in. “Oh—take off your shoes, Cor will get mad.”

“Aright.” They replied, and started taking off their relatively dirty boots. Cor could tell it was mostly dust and gravel, the machinist area was mostly gravel until they’d pour the new concrete. They were more sturdy than Connie, who looked gangly in comparison to the machinist, and they had long locks of blond hair pinned in a messy bun. They unzipped their jumpsuit in the front, pulling at the flaps to air themselves out, exposing their bra, so Cor looked away out of courtesy.

“You must be Cor.” She said, and slapped her gloved hand into his own, it felt small in comparison, her grip was firm, and somewhat oily. His hand came away blackish. “Oops, sorry about that.” She pulled her gloves off, tucking them into the jumpsuit. “Cidina.” She bowed her head. “Nice to meet you. Connie mentioned you.” She took out a toolbag and held it out to Connie. “Where should I put the gifts?”

“On the counter is fine.” Connie said. “Oh, I suppose that’s Divo’s gift.” Connie peered into the bag brought by the man from earlier.

“Divo said he couldn’t make it.” Angelo piped up. “He’s got extra work.”

“That man… I swear.” Connie huffed, peering into the bag. “I said nothing expensive… oh well, if anyone can give expensive gifts, I suppose it’s him.”

“Divo… was the man with the black hair and the glasses?” Cor asked. “Looks a bit like the King?”

“He ought to, he’s royalty himself, although he’s pretty far down the line to inherit the throne…. King Mors is his… second cousin, or something like that? Anyway, he’s rich.” Angelo filled Cor in. “But he doesn’t like being royal, so he worked here, Black Mage kind of guy.”

Cor didn’t know what a ‘black mage’ kind of guy even was, but he didn’t want to try finding out.

Soon enough, more guest appeared, each bringing a gift, and some bringing food. In the end there was a small selection of fried chicken pieces, pepperoni pizza, two boxes of cookies, a chef’s salad, and some mild soda drinks of Jetty’s or Melon Cola – something Cor never tried before, and didn’t really care for. Back home, he never had soda, his mother said it was too sugary –

He tried not to think about that anymore. Although perhaps that voice in his head was right, this stuff really did feel like it would rot his teeth. He’d been missing mugicha and the smell of it brewing. Coffee was just as nice, but it wasn’t the same. Before he can dwell on it, their little dorm is now attempting to house a total of eight people.

Cor talked with Cidina and Angelo a bit.

“It’s a shame, you know? This paycheck issue, it’s been happening all the time.” Angelo explained. “Ever since Niflheim took over Keycatrich, it’s been a big old mess…” He shook his head. “Bank of Leide is probably operating with gil instead of the Lucian Dollar, and Niflheim is closing accounts, hopefully the Crownsguard can sort out the situation – but don’t beat yourself up over it. Ever so often we’re all living paycheck to paycheck.” Angelo patted him between the shoulders.

Cor was somewhat glad he ate that awfully cold sugarless porridge earlier, because it held back some of his ravenous appetite making himself look like a fool. He ripped through three pieces of fried chicken, two thighs, one drumstick, he’d drank two of those sugary melon cola sodas, both a bright green color, and he was about to go after the pizza when he noticed someone had brought something else. Sasa-dango. It was in a small black container, and Cor glanced around, someone he never met before noticed him and said. “It’s for you. Connie said you liked it.”

Cor grabbed the box, picking up a little bundle of bamboo leaf and peeling to reveal the steamed green dango. He immediately ripped into one, it was filled with smooth red bean paste. He went very quiet. It genuinely felt like home. It occurred to him then, something that he should’ve realized. Connie hadn’t just been asking Cor random questions, he wanted to know, he genuinely wanted to know what Cor wanted so he could give it to him.

Cor started chewing very slowly on the sasa-dango. It felt like something to be savored.

“I nearly got lost three times looking for the store you bought it from.” The person was complaining to Connie, so Cor pretended to be busy eating while he listened.

“I was surprised they made it at all.” Connie admitted. “Doman cuisine is surprisingly easy to come by, but the sweets were rare, that store owner is from Tsubame City.”

Tsubame…

Cor clutched his stomach, shutting his eyes. He tried not to think about it. He tried not to wonder about home, but he’d been wondering where his friend’s dead bodies ended up, and now he wondered what home was like, silent, ashamed that the dead bodies of their children had become a product of this war. Cor carefully set the box aside. It was a lot smoother than the one back home, more pristine, but he wanted the one made at home more than ever. So he shut the box, and put it away.

“I’ll save it for later.” Cor remarked, and realized his voice was actually wavering with some raw emotion he didn’t want to feel right now. He set it on his desk. The dorm felt a bit cramped with a whole eight people inside, but still, they managed to move around, mostly just mingling around the food. Cor tried to nibble at a slice of pizza, but he ended up just ripping the pepperonis off and eating that. His stomach was thinking mostly about the sasa-dango that he’d denied himself.

He managed a pizza slice after some time, and tried some of the salad, covering the lettuce in cheese and ham and egg. He took another soda, and considered himself fully stuffed, as well as most of the group, because Connie clapped his hands and said it was time to open presents now that they settled in.

Cor honestly felt a bit embarrassed to open presents in front of other tall grown adults, not to mention they had all bought it for him. He opened Cidina’s, because it was the most blatant. A toolbag, with wrenches, screwdrivers, a tire gauge, a hammer, and ‘other stuff for just in case moments’ as Cidina put it. Cor figured he could always keep it as a extra weapon in rough times.

Crystal got him a black blanket, and black pillow sheets and two pillows. Sure enough, Angelo bought Cor laundry detergent, and dryer sheets, and then some fresh white socks and other chemicals like hydrogen peroxide for cleaning the house up, just like the ones Cor described. He even got the scent he liked, summer breeze, and the dryer sheets too. The other gifts were silverware, and a mug, as well as coffee filters for their machine, and the coffee that Cor liked. A whole box of instant ramen noodles and soup packets to be made with hot water, as well as a small kettle, and finally, Divo’s unnecessarily expensive gift of a Walkman with several cassette tapes to listen to. It was a new thing, Cor had never had one before, but heard of them. Connie rolled his eyes at the expensive gift, but decided that Divo was rich anyway, he could part with his money.

Every single strange question that Connie asked suddenly had a reason. All of these gifts were from the others, sure, but everything was clearly directed by Connie to make those purchases. Connie remembered. He remembered exactly what he asked, how many pillows he slept with was exactly two. His favorite color was black. His favorite laundry detergent, ramen flavor, the sasa-dango – all of it.

The group wound down after Cor opened everything, they already had their fill, and there was plenty of leftovers. Some of the later guests were the first to leave, and Crystal too was tired, Angelo eventually leaving after her, and Cidina after helping Connie fix the sink after a bit of pleading.

Connie helped clear spaces for Cor’s stuff, but, for the most part, it all fit in his fairly barren closet. It certainly looked less empty now, the food packages were a great sight to see, and he was full enough to almost make himself sick, he definitely shouldn’t have eaten so much after practically a week of minimal eating. He stood up, looking Connie in his dark brown eyes until Connie’s lips twitched a small smile.

“What?” Connie asked.

“W..why?” Cor murmured.

“Why what?”

“… Why all this… stuff?” Cor asked. “This was you, right?”

Connie smiled a bit more. “Yeah.”

“Well why did you do that?”

“I apologize, since I know you don’t seem to like handouts unless you’re literally an inch from death – that’s at least the feeling I get from you… but I know you don’t have money and you won’t be expecting it soon.”

Cor furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Angelo mentioned something that I told him, but… I didn’t tell you.” Connie eventually sank into sitting down on his bed, one of his legs crossed over the other, his thigh high boots creak with new leather.

“We lost Leide.” Connie said. “All of it… every business that existed was to forfeit their ties to the Kingdom of Lucis, and, all Lucian citizens… as a Crownsguard, you are a citizen of Lucis, if you were a civilian, you would keep your accounts – so long as you allied yourself with Niflheim.”

Cor kept silent the whole time.

Connie took it as a sign to continue. “So… all bank accounts  in the bank of Leide would forfeit all accounts under Lucian identifying clients… you would be one of them. I know you’ve been issued an apology letter but… they probably took your gil and ran.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” Cor huffed.

“Under whose laws?” Connie returned. “They are bankers, they want gil, regardless of how it happens.” He sighed a bit. “I’m sorry Cor, I didn’t realize you weren’t getting paid. I would have paid for the things you were eating… I only ever saw you drinking coffee this week.”

Cor wasn’t looking at Connie anymore, part of his beaten pride just couldn’t seem to take much more, he had fought Keycatrich for nothing, they didn’t just lose the city, they lost the whole Leide area. All the money, whatever little of it he saved, had been lost too. He settled down in his bed.

“Oh…” Cor couldn’t seem to say anything else, his money he could begrudgingly part with, but Leide… after he fought for everything, they really lost Leide. Cavaugh and Insomnia City were all they had left. Connie stood up, putting his hand on Cor’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” Connie said again. “I know it’s a lot to take in… I wish I had better news… but I figure the King will be smoothing things over, they’re apparently trying to transfer all military funds over to the Bank of Spira… so, there’s that.”

Cor just stayed there, letting Connie put his hand on him. It felt somewhat nice.

“Well, the King seems fond of you, why don’t you bring it up to him?”

“I don’t think he’d like that, I almost killed him today.”

Connie’s eyes widened. “What?”

Cor sighed. “I was sent to him to fight to figure out a placement for me. They said it was too hard to figure out my limit… so King Mors offered to place me. I hit him with my sword, I think… and he started bleeding.” Connie’s eyes widened at that.

“You actually hit him?”

“Yeah.” Cor huffed.

“That’s incredible. He’s one of the strongest mages in the world.” Connie remarked. “Well… what happened?”

“He… he said I shouldn’t be in any training, I should be in some other group… he also fainted and they took him to the hospital after that.”

He smiled. “Well that’s good isn’t it? I mean… that’s incredible. I can’t believe you hit him… He must’ve been very impressed, he’s the type to admire power.”

“What if he’s upset with me? I mean… I hurt him…”

“Nonsense, he wouldn’t have given you such accolades if he hated you.” Connie said. “… I didn’t mean to foul the mood of tonight up with that news. I figured I should be honest. If you need help, you should have asked… I mean, I know it’s hard to ask others for food and money but – I’m always here to help. Trust me.”

Cor looked up at him, he had such an honest look to his brown eyes, in the dark there was a dim glow of moonlight, his brown skin glows, and his dark eyes stare with a strange way that calms Cor. Cor sank down.

“Thank you.” He murmured.

“No sweat.” Connie stepped over. “Now, go make your bed, hopefully the blanket is all right, they bought a thick one, since, well, it’ll be snowing soon enough.” The blanket was a pitch black duvet, and the pillow sheets were also black. Cor settled the two pillows down, finally able to set his backpack on the chair and just let it be a bag.

“We’ve got leftovers and food in the pantry and a place to sleep, and things to do tomorrow. It’s not all bad, right?” Connie asked.

“No. It’s not.” Cor pulled the black duvet up to his shoulders, hiding under it. He was sluggish from eating all that food, he just sank against the pillows, feeling his face, indenting it. It was still new, still smelled like a clean store as did the blanket, it felt like a relief to have something to finally lay in, and a blanket to be warm in.

Connie finished cleaning up from the night, and exited the shower in his clean pajamas, and slid the folding table under his bed. Cor watched him, now damp from the shower, curly brown hair clinging to his neck and face. Connie took a towel to it, fluffing the hair up and drying. The evening moonlight looked like silver in his hair and on his skin. Cor thought about how long he’d been here, and really how long he’d known Connie, he was still impressed by how generous Connie was to him, and how welcoming. He appreciated that, even with the unusual circumstances with the King, he was grateful. Not being in Keycatrich anymore, it felt like he could breathe again, like he could sleep again, like he could eat again without the fear of death and the stench of corpses around him and he was truthfully, grateful. Cor watched Connie slide into the bed, sitting upright, pulling his blanket over himself. Carefully, Cor spoke out to him.

“I think… I’ll be okay here.” Cor said, pulling his blanket up to his face.

“I know you will.” Connie didn’t even look at him to say so. Cor’s silence did finally cause Connie to raise his head, a couple drops of water falling off the tips of his hair, and again, with a small smile and nod of his head, affirming his response. “I know you will.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for all the comments and support, it took me a long while to get this chapter done, and I hope you guys enjoy.


	7. Doubts

It occurs to Cor in that rush to leave the training center, that he never actually got the time to ask Mors what exactly is ‘elite’ or the Elite Training Annex, but with the help of a map and wandering around the base aimlessly, he finally found the Annex. He was a bit early, but he was nervous he might not find it and be late. It was a massive training area, spread over several buildings in the Camp. Cor eventually went back to his barracks, made a cup of coffee, using his new mug, and warmed himself up with that before cleaning it and eventually going to roll call. Connie all the meanwhile spent a lot of his morning routine picking out clothes, taking a shower, grooming his hair, and making himself ‘presentable’ he seems to care for his outfits, Cor just made sure his was clean.

He made sure to make his bed tight now that he actually had blankets and pillows on it. He was used to Connie and him going separate ways, but this day, they were both headed in the same direction. Cor walked a bit faster to catch up with Connie, and Connie turned, smiling a bit.

“You got stationed somewhere else?” Connie spoke up.

“Yeah.” Cor nodded. “Remember when I said the King trained me yesterday.”

Connie nodded.

“Well, he said he wants me at the Elite Training Annex.” Cor explained.

“Really?” Connie’s face lit up. “That’s where I work.”

Cor raised his brow, but he didn’t question him at all about it. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around then?”

“Maybe.” Connie replied. “Although I mostly work with the mages. There are three areas, weapons combat training, martial arts, and mage training. I’ll show you where the weapons training is, since I imagine that’s where you’re going.” Connie helped him along, although Cor had already made it to the area, he took him through the lobby of the building and into a massive hall that was much different than the simple training rooms they had. The ceiling was high, and the windows were large, like in the Citadel. There was others warping around up in the loft of the ceiling and also on the floor, between training dummies. There was all sorts of weapons on display by Crownsguard, shields, maces, lances, halberds, and Cor looked around, a bit staggered by what exactly he should be doing.

A loud booming voice shook most of hall and cleared Cor’s head.

“ _Quit playing grab ass and line up._ ”

Most of the Crownsguard in the midst of training immediately ran over to the far left wall of the training room, a few of them warping downward. Cor and Connie immediately fell into the line.

The man with the booming voice wasn’t exactly who he expected. The door was open, and in came a man in a wheelchair. He had a tight shirt on, a bit of grey hair, but mostly black hair, cut short, and groomed back, his arms were covered in tattoos of bird feathers. His amber eyes contained a stern look, his face etched in the expression of anger, creases between his eyebrows, and frowning. His wheelchair was not automated, he rolled the wheels with his hands, and everyone looked extremely tense as he passed by, and he eventually turned the chair, stopping, and faced Cor. Cor grit his teeth and tried to anticipate anything.

“You.” The man’s voice is extremely deep, and booming, and Cor straightens out his back harder if that’s even possible. “You’re the boy that beat up my son.”

“…” Cor didn’t know what to say.

“You’re younger than I thought you’d be. How old are you?”

Cor tensed, trying to think. How old was he? Did he know what Mors knew? He couldn’t have… could he?

“Are you deaf boy?” The man snapped.

“Nossir.” Cor murmured. “… Seventeen.”

“What?”

“Eighteen sir.” Cor spoke up. “I… I’m eighteen.”

Connie seemed to be looking down at Cor with a strange expression on his face, but he was mildly calm about this, not even standing at attention.

“Is that so…” The man asked. “You know who I am?”

“Yessir.” Cor said, and the man stared, so he cleared his throat, and specified. “You’re Marshal Dominus… your son is Clarus.”

“I know who my son is.” Dominus growled. “This is my training center, and you’re under my rules and my orders, you understand? Trellis doesn’t have control over you anymore. You report to this place every day after roll call, and you wait for my instructions. You _will_ listen to my instructions, I won’t have you cutting people up with your sword in my facility.”

Cor could see some people down the line smirking, and even holding back a laugh, so he nervously bowed his head, trying not to look. “Yessir.”

The man put his hands back on the wheels and seemed to be continuing, but instead he stopped in front of Connie.

“Connie, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Just showing him around.” Connie said casually, and gestured to Cor on his left.

“Get to the mage’s station.” He ordered. “They need a Firaga demonstration.”

Connie smiled a bit at that. “Yes sir.” He breaks formation without even a salute, and walks down the line. After that, Dominus continues to go down the row, accounting for his soldiers, and giving instructions over what to do today. Training for the most part, before he finally dismissed them all except Cor, who he beckoned to follow. Cor did as he was told, following behind the man’s wheelchair until Dominus spoke up.

“Here, where I can see you.” He huffed, and Cor nodded and started to walk on Dominus’s side.

“The King has taken a shine to you.” Dominus’s voice always sounds like a growl. “I can see why. Managing to hit His Majesty in a fight is no easy task.” They continued to walk the halls. “I have to see if you have any potential, and in what. For now, I’ll show you where to go.” Dominus continued to go around, and Cor saw more of the place, mostly a lot of people in different places. There was inside gyms where people were using ellipticals, practicing carrying weights while running on the treadmill, and lifting weights. There was a large area for the nurses, and someone in there with a bleeding nose. Dominus made his way to the large glass doors, and Cor reached to open it for him, but Dominus told him to stand back, and opened it himself.

Outside there was a massive pool and inside soldiers seemed to be learning to dive on the deep end, and in the shallow end, some mages attempting the Waterga spell with not much success. There was more weight lifting, these weights made of rubber and on a padded area on the concrete, ever so often someone would attempt a jerk lift and grunt or shout in frustration and pain.

“What’s your plan, boy?”

Dominus’s question came out of nowhere while they crossed the threshold to another building. Cor doesn’t respond, so Dominus repeated himself.

“What’s your plan, boy?”

“…Plan?” Cor asked.

“For the Crownsguard.” Dominus specified. “What are you doing here?”

Cor blinked a few times. “…Joined with my friends.”

“That’s it? You here because your friends told you to?” Dominus asked.

“I wanted to.” Cor clarified.

“Why? You like fighting?”

“I want to be Lucian.” Cor murmured.

“You were from the mainland territories, huh? You saw when Niflheim took over?”

Cor nodded.

“You saw what Niflheim can do.”

Another nod.

“They killed your friends. You want revenge. You want to fight back?”

Cor nodded.

“What else? What happens when you get revenge? You done?”

“…I don’t know, sir.” Cor remarked.

“You like fighting? Or is this just a means to an end?”

“It… feels right.” Cor confirmed. “I feel like when I’m fighting… it’s the only time I know what I’m doing in this… in this world.”

“Fighting feels right. Clears your head, makes your goals pretty clear, right? You want to survive, and you want to win. You want to win this war too right?”

Cor nodded.

“We lost Leide, that was a heavy blow.” Dominus continued. “King Mors is making a lot of decisions… we have to stand by them, when I make a decision, you have to stand by me, you understand?”

“Yessir.” Cor replied.

“Mors is still impressed you managed to hit him in a fight, he says you don’t hesitate in a fight, but you don’t seem to know exactly what you’re doing. I want to fix that… I’m impressed by you too.”

Cor glanced down at Dominus, surprised to hear those words out of the Marshal of the Crownsguard of all people.

“Not many people can humble my son or mute my family.” Dominus explained. “Trellis has a temper, it’s easy to get her bothered, but genuinely frustrated is different. I know you’re strong… but what I want to know, is if you’re committed. Will petty revenge be a problem? Keycatrich did a number on you. To what end do you think you will seek it?”

“I want to win this war.”

Dominus is silent for a while. “And if we can’t?”

“Die trying.”

Dominus scoffed. “Good.” He murmured. “I need to know that. King Mors wants people who are committed, and I need to know that you are.”

They enter a different area, a smaller more private one on one training area, it’s grassy, and sunny out today, but the air is cold, even with the sun beating down. By a couple training dummies, there’s a man sitting there, and Dominus calls out to him.

“Divo.” Dominus says.

Divo salutes, and bows his head. “Marshal.”

“This is the boy.”

Divo had long black hair, shiny like it was wet, and jet black, pulled back in a tight ponytail. He really did look like a Lucis Caelum, sharp cheekbones, thin face, frail looking body, a small jaw, a furrowed brow, handsome, like a carved statue, or a model, but didn’t look like they’d handle a fight. His blue eyes are framed with glasses. He’s got thin tight black training close on, only showing off how small he looks, and tight yoga pants that are clinging to his thighs and hips. He adjusts his fingerless gloves, and looks around.

“You’re Connie’s friend.” Divo remarked.

“Roommate.” Cor replied.

“Divo, I want you to do a full rundown of CQC and weaponless combat. Connie is doing the Firaga demonstration for you.”

“Very well sir.” Divo had a bit of a posh accent too, same with most royalty, although Mors was especially severe. “Shall I see you in the meeting in the Citadel this evening?”

“Perhaps.” Dominus shifted in his wheelchair, pulling himself back, and sitting up straight. “I’ll be going.”

“Take care, sir.” Divo bowed his head, so Cor turned and did the same until the man had gone away.

Cor turned to Divo, watching the man pull down his glasses, exposing his blue eyes and setting them down.

“Before we beat each other up, I wanted to thank you for the Walkman.” Cor mentioned, and stepped back a bit to give each other some distance.

“Not a problem. It’s important to be up to date with technology in Insomnia.” Divo laced his fingers together, and pushed his arms out, popping his knuckles.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you buy it?”

“Connie wanted me to buy laundry detergent. I didn’t see that as so dire, I told him to tell someone else to buy it. I thought a Walkman would be more my style. Expensive, if not a bit tacky, but useful.” He seemed to be amused by his own comparison.

“Why buy anything?”

“Don’t take it personally, I’m sure you aren’t _always_ a walking charity case.” Divo folded his arms. “Connie asked us.”

“I know.”

“When Connie asks, we do.” Divo replied. “It wasn’t about you. We all owe Connie something.”

Cor raised his brow. “Why?”

Divo chuckled. “You really are new, huh?” He clenched his fists. “Connie saved our lives, most of us at least – never mind that, let’s fight, yeah?”

“Fine.” Cor could handle that. “But at least tell me about Connie.”

“Not much to tell.” Divo replied. “He’s been here a couple years, nothing much out of him for a while… His Majesty grants him some magic powers – boom, he’s in the elite Crownsguard. He’s important to the royal family now, I know him pretty well.”

“You’re royalty too, right?” Cor asked.

“Yeah.” Divo beckoned Cor with his hand. “I’m a Prince… well, I was one. Before Cleigne fell. Divo Lucis Noxia. Thirtieth in line for the throne of Lucis. If King Mors and twenty-nine other listed Royal Princess and Princes die before me, then I inherit the throne, so… low chances. That’s fine with me. I don’t want the throne. It looks like a lot of trouble.”

“That’s a lot of siblings.”

Divo laughed. “King Mors is my uncle… distant uncle, but he is one, nonetheless.” He shrugged. “I like it better here, with people like Connie, he’d save my life, you’re all wild killers, but I trust you more than my own family. That’s the funny part about it all, isn’t it? Royal backstabbing bastards are all over Insomnia.”

Cor kept that in mind. He could see Divo was waiting to actually fight, but he wanted to hear more. Still, he knows, this is training, not storytelling, unless he can coax someone, they usually don’t talk back very much. He squared his shoulders, and brought his hands in close to his body. Cor took a swing, and watched Divo back up. He stepped forward, attempting another small punch of his left hand, Divo leaned towards the right, and Cor hit him as he leaned into his right punch.

Divo jumped back, and smirked, shaking off the punch, his ponytail swaying with his movement. “Good. A little slow, but I see you.”

“So how did Connie save your life?”

“Same way he saves most people.” Divo replied. “Snatch and grab. He gets teamed up with Airborn units and even the Naval units, Joint Special Ops, since the Red Mages came around, they’re considered optimum for snatch and grab. Rescue missions. Destructive magic to plow their way through, and medical magic to heal their rescue.”

Cor furrowed his brow, he rushed for a punch, this time Divo grabbed his fist and twisted his arm to push him back, and Cor followed that motion so he didn’t hurt himself.

“My brother got killed a few months back. Talking back to some guy named Ulldor. He shot him.” Divo put two fingers up to his mouth, and motioned with his thumb like he was pulling a trigger. “Gun in the mouth. Blew his brains out on the piano. We were being held hostage for territory. So Mors sends in Connie… seeing him in action… made me want to join up. So here I am.”

Cor didn’t know what to say, the way he spoke made it seem like he didn’t care about his brother, or at least was ignoring it. Cor didn’t feel like saying sorry, he knows what it’s like to hear it too often. What it’s like to be numb.

“I obviously pulled forward faster because I have it in my blood. Magic is my calling… that’s why I like this. No weapons, no magic, just fists. Boxing used to be a gentlemen’s sport in the royal circle, now it’s fencing. I never liked that.” He shrugged, and when Cor seemed distracted he went in for a hit. Cor reared up and put his arms up to block, only giving him pain in his forearms. Divo hit hard, as slender as he looked, he was sturdy and muscular, not bulky and barrel chested like most, but sinew and bone wired together.

Cor knew the type, Isaac was the same, ~~but Isaac was dead~~. He tried to push the thought out of his mind. He punched, and tried a kick, but Divo lifted his leg and blocked with his shin, before snapping his leg out like a spring loader and slamming into Cor’s side. He stumbled, and moved with that hit, falling to the floor, and immediately getting back up on his feet with a quick turn of his body on his shoulder and rolling.

“You already know your stuff, huh?” Divo said, he seemed to be enjoying this, judging the smirk on his face.

“You don’t look like the fighting type.” Cor spoke up.

“Looks are deceiving, aren’t they?” Divo replied. “Connie seems like a sweet guy, you wouldn’t think his job was snapping necks and setting people on fire, Mors acts like a celebrity, he doesn’t look like someone who’s willing to sacrifice thousands if not millions of people—but here we are.”

“What makes you say that about the King?”

Divo scoffed. “You really don’t know anything. King Mors sent out personal invitations five weeks before we were held hostage up north of the Vesperpool. He told us to move into Insomnia ‘or else’.” Divo made air quotes with his fingers when he said ‘or else’ and then immediately lashed out to try and get at Cor while he wasn’t paying attention. Cor caught his fist in his arms, and pushed it away.

“What does that mean?”

“You tell me.” Divo replied. “He was incredibly vague, but said there would be something happening to our land, and it would be in our best interest to move all our valuable assets to Insomnia City. He said we have three weeks.”

“You didn’t listen.”

“Of course not. Who would listen to the King writing ominous letters in gold ink and giving you three weeks to move out of our house? Three weeks come and goes, and nothing happens… then, sure enough, Niflheim shows up, five weeks after that letter.”

“He warned you.”

“No.” Divo scoffed. “He _knew_.” He cracked his knuckles on both hands, and kept his hands up. “That man knew. He damned us and gave away territory to Niflheim.” Divo threw a punch, and this time Cor took it, only so Divo’s arm was out, and Cor twisted it, and knocked his clenched knuckles right into Divo’s bicep where it hurt.

Divo jolted back, and clutched his arm. Seemed Cor hit him right in a sensitive nerve, but Cor knew that, part of him was getting irritated with how Divo spoke of his own uncle.

“How the hell do you know that? … I didn’t hear anything about him giving away Lucian territory to the Niffs.” Cor tried to stay calm, and let out an exhale.

Divo had a sparkle emit from his hand clutching his sore bicep. Cor could tell it was magic. He wanted to say that was unfair, but this wasn’t a fight, it was just training.

“He did the same thing, to the families of Duscae, the Hesters, the Auburnbrie, five weeks before the Empire came in… and then, Keycatrich happened. Mors sent for the Kore-Aquilis family, and only one boy came, their youngest Prince, Zodia… They sent Connie in _two_ weeks before the battle broke out. He also sent his letter five weeks prior, and gave them three weeks to pack, just like my family.” Divo shook his head. “You know the truth, it wasn’t a battle. It was a massacre.”

“You still don’t have proof. Maybe Mors only has good timing.”

Divo laughed. “You don’t believe me? Why don’t you ask him yourself then? I’m sure Mors will tell you his version, but you know mine.”

“I don’t really care.” Cor grumbled. “Are we going to actually fight, or not?”

Divo laughed. He eventually raised his fists, and the two came together. Cor was thrown on the hard dirt a couple times, he was bruised by the end of the short skirmished, mostly on his shoulder and side, where Divo seemed to aim. Never aim at the face, not in training, Divo mentioned after a few attempts. He told Cor to keep himself more balanced, instead of relying on leaning. He praised him on how he seemed to have mastered getting up, a surprisingly necessary tactic to learn to be fast at, it was never good to be on the ground and struggling. It felt exhausting, but very thorough, and Cor actually felt grateful and thanked Divo for his help.

All the same, he wanted to blame being distracted, because Divo’s words had wormed their way into his mind and he was starting to feel conflicted about Mors. The idea that he knew about the territories… about Keycatrich. Cor had seen the bomber ships fly over his house when Cleigne was taken, he was used to wearing a gas mask and hiding under his bed during the sirens. To think the terror was so deep that he was so eager to join the Crownsguard, to feel like he had a fighting chance – only to be destroyed again in Keycatrich, to relive the bombs, the terror, he was shaking, and stumbled out alive – indeed, maybe it was all just stupid luck.

Cor was sore and hugging ice packs to his body, but he actually felt more than better. He felt like he was doing something, like he was improving. When they moved on, he found himself tasked with accounting for Magic Flasks and delivering them to the demonstrations, so he checked and double checked the inventory of about 72 flasks, and carted them across to the mage training area.

There was a large pillar of fire, about three feet across, and nearly two stories tall. Standing only a few feet away from it, was Connie, holding his hands out, getting the pillar stable, watching it twirl like a tornado, crackling and burning, showering them with heat. A group of people were watching Connie. Cor ended up standing on the side, watching as well.

Connie was asking questions, teaching through them, how did one control a fire this big? What happened when elemancy spells got too big to contain? What was the best thing to do in that situation? Connie showed what not to do – attempt to force it, showing the fire pillar would spread out, or start to crumble and bend and warp back and forth until it was shooting out uncontrollable fires. In the controlled courtyard, there was nothing for it to hit, but Connie mentioned that this would only get worse if one was in the wild, setting trees on fire, burning away the dry grass or the area itself.

He showed a method to counteract an intense firaga spell with a waterga spell, and plucked one of the Magic Flasks and shattered it at the base of the fire pillar, and started to push water up and into the source of the fire, the heat causing thick hot steam to start hissing out, but soon the spell was thinner and thinner, getting shorter and shorter.

Through much of the demonstration, Connie held the same sort of smile and gentle speech that he seemed to show with anyone, he grew a bit tired, Cor could see, even if he didn’t understand, the pure physically exhaustion that overwhelmed the mages. He wondered if this too was what Mors felt.

Well… he actually wondered a lot about what Mors felt, and what Divo said, and what Connie mentioned about Lucis Caelum’s and magic. What was it about the King’s magic that made it so… strange and visceral? What exactly was King Mors planning, and what exactly were they supposed to do about it? Cor wondered and wondered, but until he saw King Mors again, he could do nothing more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I really like Cor, and writing him, and I was inspired by 0dinkyicarus's art and their drawings of Mors that I wanted to write something about Cor and Mors. If you enjoy, let me know, leave a comment and kudos.


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